Hetalia: Love is Blind
by Bai-Marionette
Summary: Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. Allow him to see something so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme
1. Growing Darker

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after being after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

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**.:Chapter One:.**

_Trust men and they will be true to you; treat them greatly and they will show themselves great._

–**Ralph Waldo Emerson**

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Sitting alone within his backyard, Alfred F. Jones enjoyed the warm feeling of the sun on his face. He enjoyed the contrasting feel of the cool breeze, faintly feeling how the summer breeze would blow through his hair and caress his face. It felt nice outside today. It usually was during the sunny and summer days, that Alfred stayed outside longer.

The sensations made him feel like he could still see…See how the yellow sun would give everything its familiar warm glow, and how all of the flowers would bloom open to greet it. See how the trees would swish in the winds and how the grass would stretch up to somehow feel the sun's rays.

His blonde head fell a bit, slightly, in sadness. So soon, it had been so soon that his eyesight had been stripped from him. One of the greatest things one could ever have was sight, and he had had his taken away as a child before he could fully appreciate its blessing.

Now, here he was, years later, living without it. He knew it could have been worse. He could have lost his hearing, or become a vegetable. But no, he had lost his sight. He still felt a bit bitter about it. Especially on days like this. It was days like this, where he missed the sight of the sun, and the flowers, the grass and the cars that drove past his small home.

Alfred sighed. It would do him no good, if he moped about being blind now. He was nearly twenty years old. It was a long time ago. He should have been over it, by now, right? Right. He was being a crybaby, over a stupid accident that could have killed him, and here he was moping over being blind! At least, he was alive, and –

"Alfred?" Said person's blonde head rose at the sound of the voice, and his head turned to where he thought the voice had come from. At least, his other senses had approved, in the place of his blindness. He could hear very well now.

"Mattie?" He asked, slowly standing, as he threw a hand out. How long had he been outside? The air was colder now. It was still warm, but it wasn't as warm as it had been… "What is it, is something wrong? What time is it?"

Mathew, Alfred's slightly younger twin brother and unofficial caretaker for some days, smiled gently. Although his brother couldn't see it, the other seemed to feel that everything was alright, and he calmed down from his earlier slight worried state.

"It's okay, Al," Mathew began, softly. He spoke soft, to be better on Alfred's ears. They were more sensitive, due to his blindness, and he claimed that he despised yelling and loud noises. "I was just coming in to tell you that dinner is ready." Alfred blinked, about to ask the time, and Mathew quickly added on, "It's past nightfall, Al."

Alfred stood there, for a moment, and then his head dropped as if he was looking at the ground. White-blue eyes stared at the ground, truly unseeing, as he muttered a quiet nod. Mathew bit his lip, gently, and then came further outside to take his brother's hand.

He smiled, and gave his brother a small sideways hug. "It's okay, Al, it's not your fault. It just got dark, you couldn't see it. It's alright, it happens, time flies." Alfred shook his head slowly. "I couldn't see anything, Mattie…"

Mathew stiffened, realizing his bad wording, as Alfred continued, "I couldn't see anything. I can't see anything. I can't see the sun, or the flowers. I can't even see the grass…or the cars." Alfred's voice dropped lower, "It's getting closer to the anniversary, Mattie…"

Mathew winced, remembering the day quite well. He didn't like remembering it any more than Alfred did. While he still had his sight, albeit it was poor at night, and he had to wear strong glasses, he had his own scars from the accident. At times, he would space out, and just sit or stand there, completely disconnected to wherever he was.

It was like dreaming deeply, but he couldn't wake up. He could be like that for a few minutes to a few hours. It all depended on how his mind decided to be that day.

At one instance, it happened while he was cooking, and he nearly burned the kitchen, if it weren't for Alfred. Although the other couldn't see, he could smell, and he had come running to put his brother in a chair, and the black pan in the sink and turned on the cold tap.

Neither of them had come from that accident, without some kind of scar.

The brother stood in the area of their front porch, for a long time. Then Alfred sighed, his shoulder sagging and then rising up. He turned in the direction on his brother's hand, and said, "I'm going to bed, early tonight."

Mathew wasn't given time to respond, or at least not in the way that Alfred would be able to see/hear, as the other left the porch. Mathew saw his brother walking slowly to the door, and stopping as he opened it. The older of the two looked out at the front yard, even though he couldn't see it.

"It's going to rain, tonight," Alfred said. Mathew frowned, but didn't question it. Alfred left without another word, and Mathew sighed. He looked out at the yard for a while, to distract himself, and then he sighed once more and walked inside.

He tried to eat, but eventually he gave up and packed everything away as leftovers. He hadn't been feeling too hungry. He felt too guilty for indirectly spilling salt into Alfred's most sensitive wound.

As he crawled into bed, placing his glasses on the bed, he heard the first pitter-patter of rain outside his window. He listened for awhile, not fully sure how Alfred had knew it was going to rain. Nevertheless, it was raining now, and it was slowly gaining volume into something that Mathew knew would be a bad storm.

_The sky is mocking us_, Mathew thought, and he tried to drift to sleep. But just as he was about to close his eyes, he thought it over again. No, he realized, as sleep beckoned him close. _The sky is crying for Alfred._

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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Another brain fart that I had, that came to fruition. Apparently, Gott said I wouldn't be updating "Blue Embers" today. Huh. This will be kind of a sad story. You'll see Ivan soon. I promise.

Um, well, I don't have much to say…if you want me to continue, please show some love for this story! Please?

**READ AND REVIEW!**


	2. Beyond the Grey

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after being after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

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Author Alert:

Story alert/ Favorites: **ChubbyCubby23, iAMthedamnhero, MaliceArchangela, ThatPurplyThing, psychokittenterror, Yubel198, fluteprincess95, knyghtstar, Demon Piper, Obsession and Insanity, HoneySweetSins, Gilly B, Ashcola17, Hikary Sanoko, Prussian Sinister, Vampirates, PaperDream, Fireshadow242, Hunny The Monster**

Reviewer(s)!: ** iAMthedamnhero, easha, Guest, Animaegan, Sylene Bloodrose, Blind fetish, Ashcola17, Prussian Sinister, GilbirdAttack, Vampirates, nadzuke eno mono**

iAMthedamnhero: (Yay, my first reviewer is the hero! :D) And thank you for saying so. I had always wondered what would happen if Alfred was blind. *shrugs* Now we know!

easha: This is what happens next…

Guest: I'm glad you want to know, here you go!

Animaegan: I will continue, and you'll soon find that Ivan is going to make a mistake that he will look back on and never regret.

Sylene Bloodrose: I really hope you can, I can't update every day…although I wish I could.

Blind fetish: (First, you're not the only one) Second, thank you! You imagined it too? I thought his eyes looked beautiful, too. No, rant as much as you like. I'm glad you enjoy as much as you did.

Obsession and Insanity: Epic username, enough said.

Ashcola17: *salutes* Yes, yes sir! Update complete, sir! :|

Hikary Sanoko: They accept your concern, and I hope this update is soon enough for you.

Prussian Sinister: Angst is for-a every-a-body! :{D And yes, that is true. Sad history/plot and tears make for good stories. :)

GilbirdAttack: *hands tissue* Here you are, hun. Yes, ja, yes, a certain Russian is on his way. Right now, actually~

Vampirates: Why, t-thank you for complimenting my writing style. O/O D-danke for reviewing.

nadzuke eno mono: Yes, yes, I do. –w– *bows* Danke for that, and your review.

**Wow, this story got a lot more support than I thought. Danke so much, I won't ever be able to tell you how happy it made me to see all of the positive response to this story. I really can't say anything.**

**So I'll just show all of my thanks in a new update. Thank you all, and please review.**

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**.:Chapter Two:.**

_"True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation."_

–**George Washington**

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Once again, Alfred found himself outside. He liked being outside, not because that he looked to like the feeling of the earth's elements around him, it was because of his early memories.

When he could remember what he could pretend that he could still see. When he could pretend to see the lush and green tree leaves, how the sky's pretty blue color seemed to stretch on forever. How the birds looked in flight, their wings spread and then jutting down in a semi-fast or slow motion in their natural way of flight.

Ah, the natural sense of sight, it was such a precious thing. Most people didn't even realize they were lucky to have it, whilst others tried to cherish the small things they still remembered from when their sight was still with them. Alfred was one of the people still treasuring small memories of colors and images like an average Joe treasures his lucky charm or his most precious memory from being forgotten.

Alfred sighed, and then threw out his arms, to flop back onto his grass. He felt the little blades tickle his skin, and reached out to feel a strand between his fingers. What color was grass again?

Wait, did it change with seasons? What season was it now; it was summer, was it? Would the grass be green right now? Or would it be brown? Maybe it was green with brown splotches? Oh, grass, what color art thou? And why do confuse Alfred so?

"What color are you?" Alfred asked softly. Naturally, the grass didn't answer, but Alfred hadn't expected it to. Although, if he had, it would have been helpful and saved him from giving himself a self-induced headache from thinking too hard on his few memories of color.

The wind drifted by, spilling its weight over Alfred's stomach and trying to rifle his hair. A small twinkle began in pale eyes, but it was quickly dead and gone, as Alfred lifted his arm blindly to the wind. The breeze wiggled through his fingers, though he tried to catch it, as it kissed its fingertip.

Did the wind have a color? If it did, what color was it? If it didn't have its own color, then what color would it choose to be? What color would the wind be? Would it choose a color at all?

Alfred hummed to himself, as he rocked and then slowly turned onto his side and then his stomach. He stared at the space of the yard in front of him. As if he could still see the grass dancing in the gentle, summer breeze and the tiny flowers growing out of turn.

The smell of mixed flowers brought Alfred's head to the right, and he smiled. The flowers were certainly enjoying the day today. He didn't need his eyes to be able to tell that. He could just smell how much vibrant the flowers were in the bright sun after the recent rain.

Alfred smiled gently. If any had been in his backyard, they might have called it bitter. Some may have called it knowing, or the face of a man who has seen many things. The latter would certainly be a pun, wouldn't it?

But...others, the people who truly knew him or could honestly understand, would have just saw it as the face of the sad little boy who still mourned over the one of the greatest things taken from him.

Alfred had long thought over his lost of sight. He had come to this conclusion. It was from all of the gasps, when he lifted his dark glasses, or when he forgot to put them on. It was when he went with his brother out into the streets, to help with shopping, or just to come along to get out of the house. It was those times, when people saw his milky blue eyes; how they would shush their children and tell them not to stare, when they themselves were doing just the same.

It was hurtful. It made him feel like a freak, like he was an alien among his own neighbors. He was American, same as them, he was born here and so were his parents. He didn't like the treatment. But more than the stares and gasps, he hated – absolutely _loathed_ – was the damned pity, that people tried to give him.

He was a full grown man, he had finished school, and he was well on his way to a degree in history and archaeology, even without his sight. He would make more money than his brother, who could still see, and people thought he wanted their pity.

Just because you know what blindness is, that doesn't mean you understand. Just because you enjoy the dark and have been blindfolded before, that doesn't mean you understand what it means to be blind. Hell, even there are some are blind, who still don't understand it themselves.

Alfred could still remember the day that some lady had put a few coins and a dollar in his empty cup, while he was sitting on a park bench, waiting for his brother to return with their ice cream. He hadn't wanted to say anything, because he could hear the kid beside her pointing at him and saying: "Mommy! Mommy! What's wrong with his eyes? They're such a weird color? Is there snot in his eyes? It looks like snot. Is it's not, Mommy?"

When his brother had gotten back, Alfred threw his ice cream away, and said he wanted to go home. Alfred didn't go out for a while after that. He knew, deep down, that the children hadn't meant to hurt his feelings or offend him…But snot? He thought he had snot in his eyes?

Alfred made a small sound in his throat, close to a cross between a groan and grunt, before he idly flicked at the grass with his fingers. He could do this, at least. He just had to pay attention. Feel the blade lean back with the wind, and then push into his finger before he flicked it away, only for it to come back again.

He sighed; already bored with the little flicker of entertainment he had gotten from the grass. He was about to stand, and "look" for other entertainment inside, when he heard his name being called from the gate. He got up and off the ground, trying to brush the grass from his person, and probably failing since he couldn't see where it is.

In the end, he straightened his T-shirt, and walked in the direction of where he had heard his name. It had been his brother's voice. Honestly, half the time, Alfred forgot the boy was there. He was so soft-spoken, since the accident had damaged his vocal cords.

The damage had made it painful to speak louder than necessary. On some certain days, Mattie would completely lose his voice and just sit there and cry. It was usually those days, that Alfred could feel his face burning in a phantom pain.

It was on those days, Alfred would be so doped off his medication, he would think he was back at age six, and he would have a bit of trouble remembering Mathew's name. He would be in the dark and he would feel terrified. He would be in so much pain, and he would just lie there. Some days, it was so bad, he would shed some tears, just because it was so tormenting.

Alone in the dark, alone and in pain, he would be alone and crying. Just like that day, long ago…He hated those days. It left him feeling weak, like he had no strength or control over what happened to him. It hurt his pride, and it nearly always found a way to draw cracks over his will not to break down. The accident had left them both more than just physical scars, after all…

"Mattie!" Alfred called back, frowning. One of those days must be coming earlier than usual. Mathew was already losing his voice. Alfred hadn't felt any pain from his eyes, so he thought that he had a few more days before the accident came to remind them of their scars.

"Al," Mathew tried to call again, and pressed a hand to his throat. It was soon going to be one of those days; they were coming for him soon. He would have to call in sick at his job, when it felt close, while he could still speak.

Mathew cleared his throat, and tried again. He heard his brother respond, and smiled. The other was going to be happy to hear this, right? He hoped so. Alfred hadn't really branched out to meet the other neighbors, because of how they treated him for his sight, and few people would take the time to listen to Mathew's words, when his voice was so soft.

Arthur, a friend of Alfred's from up the street, had said he had seen a moving truck come in. Mathew hadn't believed it at first, because few people moved to this neighborhood. It was nice, sure, it was very well-off actually, but most people drove by or dismissed it since it was farther from the city.

But truth be told, two blondes, a young and large-breasted woman and a tall young man were standing on his porch. Well, the woman was sitting in a chair, and the young man was leaning against the railing. He seemed deep in thought. The woman, well, she just looked relieved to sit. The move must have been hard on them.

Mathew smiled, still waiting on his brother, and getting a little worried. He had surely heard Alfred call back. Had he tripped over an unseen rock and hurt himself. He had done that once, and created a scratch under his chin that one time. Mathew had told him to be careful, but Alfred claimed he was careful and it wouldn't happen again.

Had it happened again? He thought, as he worried his lip with a soft bite. He sighed, and made a move to stand from his chair on the porch. "I'll be back," he said, and then turned as he went to open the door. He had no reason to be rude. "Do either of you two want anything to drink?"

The woman looked at the man, but he said nothing, intent on looking somewhere in the distance, hyacinth eyes unseeing. She nodded after a moment, and said, "Water would be nice, um, thank you."

Mathew had tucked the pause in his mind for later thought, as he nodded and went inside. He hoped Alfred didn't make a bad first impression. He went about, filling few glasses of water, and single glass of milk. For some reason, his brother had grown fond of the beverage after his sight left. Al liked to joke that it was the one thing he could still see. Mathew didn't know whether it was a really good joke or a terrible one.

He was working his way outside, a tray in his arms, as he tried to maneuver to open the door. Being a tactician paid off some ways, as he was always able to think up an idea to solve a problem. He put on a small smile, and found his smile widening, a little in shock and a little in amusement, when he came upon the scene outside.

Alfred was smiling and holding a clipped sunflower to the young man.

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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:D I finished it. Yay! We have Ivan. Does anyone know what's wrong with Ivan? Does anyone have a clue what he was thinking about? Where's Belarus/Natalya?

Who thinks they know the accident now? *sees no hands* Okay then, more details soon. Anyone THINK they know what's going to happen next? XD That's an easy one. Well, I can't really tell you now, so just—

**READ AND REVIEW!**


	3. A Streak of Light

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after being after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

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Author Alert: Hikary Sanoko, Maxiay, lavalicoriceandice

Story alert/ Favorites: ** Animateia, PrussiaRocks, Leylani-sama, The Vampire Alchemist, 1.6180, Maxiay, Sora Moto, Patata Peace, crazychick6692, Ayai, lavalicoriceandice, smrtangel, Itaichigo Jones, In The Mix, Dolce Latte van Creme, PinkPanther123, flamefoxyuki, Sorrowryuu, spiderwriters, DanieSora, Elixier Navasuki, NightSongstress, spedreder, Karen F**

Reviewer(s)!: **ChubbyCubby23, Prussian Sinister, Hikary Sanoko, PrussiaRocks, Hunny The Monster, Leylani-sama, Animaegan, Ashcola17, lavalicoriceandice, easha, PaperDream, Blind fetish, Moongirl12121(2), In The Mix, Dolce Latte van Crème, spiderwriters, DanieSora, Elixier Navasuki, hetalialover90**

ChubbyCubby23: I'm so glad you think so, and that you're willing to read. Thank you for the reviews, they keep my going!

Prussian Sinister: You're smart, you're trying to keep your brains inside of your skull. XD I already answered your blind question in our PM. :P

Hikary Sanoko: I'm so glad you think so, and I hope this update didn't take too long for you.

Hunny The Monster: Sunburns? Ouch, that's not cool. There is something wrong with Ivan, I gave a few hints at it, in the last chapter if anyone caught them. And yes, you may have a sunflower. *hands you sunflower*

Leylani-sama: Do not be ashamed, there are others who aren't sure. You are alright. Need a Russian hug and giant cookie? The ending was cute? Aw, thanks. You'll find what Alfred and Ivan had done in this chapter. :P But yeah, Ivan was looking at them. Thank you for being the one to guess correctly. ^^ (I don't mind that you can't make a long review, so long as you review, hun.)

Animaegan: Al didn't know that it was his favorite flower; he just gave him the one of the flowers he liked. It was simply a show of friendliness, and to make a good first-impression. Where did you get the idea that Natayla was in that accident? Hm.

Ashcola17: I did not put the sunflower there, no ma'am! :| One-two-three. One-two-three.

lavalicoriceandice: Crying was not intentional, but that you did spoke volumes about the evoked emotion within it. Believe me, this fict is fun to write, if a bit revealing. I never thought I would ever find myself just staring at flowers and grass. Writing through Alfred has made me treasure my sight so much.

^^ I love you too, I don't care how you take mine either. Have a hug, and a plate of cookies, hun! :D (Yeah, I have fans cheering for me.)

easha: Pass the popcorn, please? Yes, there was a Russian appearance. :D Grass was such a great example to use. It's living, and something to take for granted, but when it's gone, we complain and whine for its return but whine about its upkeep. Just like our senses, we whine about doctor visits and health measures, and we take it for granted. But when we don't have it, we await for its return, desperately.

…LOL, this seems like a great show. *munching popcorn*

PaperDream: I'm so happy to hear/see/read it. Good luck with not saying 'awesome'. PLEASE DON'T KILL ME; I HAVE PLANS TO ADOPT A PITBULL NEXT MONTH. DX (I'm a Russian fan girl, too, and I love blood.) Yay, someone wishes this story success.

Blind fetish: Hurrah, you came back to me! :D it's kind of obvious, no offense, to tell if someone is blind. Their eye color is usually a dead giveaway. It's milky, and usually very white. Ivan will see it, and know Alfred is blind.

Moongirl12121: pft, happy endings are soooo overrated. *rolling eyes* B-but…I wouldn't mind fulfilling a cliché if it makes you guys happy. *looks away* (2) You're right on Mathew and Alfred halfway, his voice was damaged by the smoke. Alfred was in a small coma for a certain time. Natalya is deceased…*mourns* But Ivan is not psycho, he is sad. ((One reviewer hit his condition dead on, though.)

In The Mix: Sure thing, person! :D

Dolce Latte van Crème: Why thank you for saying so…and YOU WATCHED 'DAREDEVIL'? YOU WIN FREE INTERNETS. (But no…no toxic waste was used in the corporation of this fiction. ^^ Hehe.)

spiderwriters: Thank you. AND OH MEIN GOTT, SOMEONE FIGURED IT OUT, BEFORE I SAID IT. YOU GET FREE INTERNETS AND THIS FREE UPDATE.

DanieSora: I'm glad you think so~ *hugging stalker*

Elixier Navasuki: Al/Matt did, ja. And LOL, no Ivan did not. Alfred didn't know anything, he just guessed and picked a flower.

hetalialover90: I DID make more chapters, this one of them! I sowie for taking so long, I've had some problems and couldn't update as soon as I wanted to. ;-;

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**Hallo again, everyone, this new update is brought to you by: spiderwriters. She guessed correctly on Ivan/Russia's condition. Moongirl12121 came close with Mathew/Canada's and Alfred/America's conditions. **

**Good job, huns, congratulations for a job well guessed! :D *shot***

**Kudos to everyone who reviewed and guessed, all the same, I love you for trying! ^J^**

**Thank you all for your time, and please review.**

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**.:Chapter Three:.**

"_And now, this is the sweetest and most glorious day that ever my eyes did see."_

–**Donald Cargill**

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The silent moment could only be described as both shocking and amusing. It was amusing in a sense that Alfred seemed to have mistaken Ivan's close proximity to his sister, to have mistakenly given him the sunflower he had cut.

He really hadn't meant to offend either, such as their silence may suggest. He had simply stopped on his way to the porch, to cut a flower for the new guests. He only wanted to make a good impression. But it would seem he had had already failed. Within five minutes of meeting the new people, Alfred had messed up any and all future plans of a friendship between them.

But then…the flowers were gently taken from his hands, and a soft voice – A woman, by her voice, and not from here by her accent, Alfred deduced – said, "...Ah, my brother says thank you. He's …actually a bit shocked right now…"

Alfred beamed; as he was trying to cover up his failure with a smile that he hoped was bright and friendly. "No problem," he said, "Uh, you're both welcome to come by the house if you want more sunflowers. It's no problem at all, we have plenty."

There was a soft swishing sound; Alfred had almost missed it, but he frowned, all the same. "What was that?"

"What was what?" the woman asked, her voice brimming on concern. Alfred then heard someone shift in the porch swing, and he tried to look in their direction.

The change of direction tilted the light to his eyes, and broke the illusion to the woman of his light blue eyes. A small gasp was heard, and Alfred frowned and stepped back, when the woman whispered, "You're blind…"

The air made a sudden shift of peaceful and slight nervousness, to awkward a tad on the offensive. Alfred stood stiff, his white eyes narrowing at the direction of the woman's voice. He tried to bite his tongue, but his tone told her of the words he hadn't allowed himself to say. His tone was firm and a bit threateningly clipped. "Yes. I am."

The woman whimpered something under her breath, adjusting the hem of her blouse, and fidgeting in the porch swing. She looked ready to cry, and Alfred could just feel some of her regret in the air. She was sorry, and it was obvious. The young man beside her, though, had yet to speak.

Alfred took a few steps back, careful of where his feet touched the ground. Too many times he had not been paying attention and had tripped or stepped on something. Too many times had he found himself on the ground and giving himself some kind of injury: minor or something of a cut or bruise; he didn't want to embarrass himself in the face of his guests.

"I-I'm sorry, that was rude of me," the woman finally said, breaking the silence. "I didn't know it was such a se-sensitive subject for you." Alfred said nothing; he just stared in her general direction, and then sighed as he nodded.

He maneuvered himself to the other chairs, and pulled it back an inch, before he sat down. He waited another minute before speaking, "Ah, yes it is. Just…" _Shut up_, he wanted to say, but he chose a polite, "Don't talk about or point it out so much. I'll be fine."

_I have been for over a decade, _he thought, sourly, as he drew circles in the wooden flooring of the porch._ Before you decided or shove it back in my face._ He stopped, realizing what he was making himself out to be, and stopped. He sighed, shaking his head, and brought it up sharply when he heard the front door open.

A smile stretched out over Alfred's face, as he could feel a sense of familiarity settle over him as his brother came through the door. The other's soft voice, softer now as the anniversary approached them both, said, "Sorry I took so long. I had a blonde moment on where the cups where."

Alfred hid his wince well, as he resettled himself. Only one person saw it, and knew what he had just done. He knew what that 'blonde moment' was. It had nothing to do with being blonde. Mathew was one of the blondes that Alfred knew who could break that stereotype as easily as breathe.

That 'blonde moment' meant that Mathew had gotten trapped in his own mind. They were early, this year. But it wouldn't matter. They would come, sooner rather than later, and remind both brothers that they could never be free of that day. No matter how much time had passed.

"Ah, it was no trouble at all," Alfred heard the woman say. He tried to smile, just for her sake, even though he could feel some thunderstorms rolling around within him. It wasn't fair. It was never fair. But it was happening again, just every year. They were being tormented, and it wasn't even their fault.

"Here's your water," Mathew said, trying to be polite. He was really trying to make a strong good impression. Few people would look at either him or Alfred without some form of pity. He wanted to change that. He wanted to, so badly.

For so long, he had seen his brother looking to be so close to pain every time someone pointed out his eyes. Every time he was asked to take off his darkened glasses inside of a building, only for people to gasp and stare, and then ask for him to put them back on so they could get everyone back on focus. It hurt his brother so much; it wore him down so much.

It hurt Mathew too. When he had his lapses in public, people thought he was having a seizure, or like that one time, when he had nearly caused a terrible accident. He had one at the wheel, and the only thing that saved him was the fact that someone ran him into the side of the road.

He had woken up at the hospital, Alfred beside him, reading something in braille and his face wet and set in such dark stone. It had been sunny, when Mathew left, but it was raining when he woke up. The moment he was found awake, so many camera were put in his face, so many apologies made. The driver kept saying he was sorry for hitting him. Even though, it was Mathew's fault for not being strong enough to hold off the lapse.

It was his fault, and yet people pitied him and sent him flowers. They came for visits to see him recover from his injuries. They tried to bring food, all of which he had watch Alfred throw away. He found their cards in the mail, and could never bring himself to forgive himself when he saw Alfred read the braille on his and then throw it down and lock himself away.

Alfred had never liked pity, and even though, it was Mathew's fault, Alfred ended up still getting burdened by the effect of Mathew's actions. If only he had been stronger…

"Thank you," the woman said, taking a sip. The young man beside him took a glass, but he didn't drink it. He just set it aside, putting it atop the wooden railing, and looking fondly at the sunflower. Mathew frowned, as he finally noticed it. He straightened himself from bending down to give Alfred his glass of milk, to ask, "Where did you get that?"

It was a simple question, but before the woman could say anything for him, the young man pointed to Alfred. Almost like magic, said blind young male looked up and blinked. The white shone, as a small lightning shot across the clear sky suddenly. A glitter sparkled, and Alfred set his half-empty glass aside to lean back in his chair.

Mathew blinked, at his brother, then the young man beside the woman, and finally at the sky. He stared the longest at the sky. The sky wasn't even dark enough for lightning. _Where had that come from?_ Then, Mathew turned his attention back to his brother, concern covering his face. It only seemed to rain when Alfred was in pain.

"I'm fine, Mattie," Alfred said, as a small smirk played upon his lips. "Don't worry over nothing." The smirk helped to ease Mathew's nerves some, as he took a seat beside his brother.

His back let out a tingling of relief. Mathew made a mental note to himself to adjust the brace over his leg, when they were alone again. His back was hurting. He would take his medicine too, even though it didn't anything like his doctor said it would.

The young man was twirling the finger in-between his fingers, until the young woman beside him put a hand on his arm. Then, he stopped, as he looked down on her silently.

"Ah, I," Mathew tried to start a conversation and failed. He never had been good with starting things, unless it was tactics. He could start and finish those, but this…wasn't anything like he was used to dealing. People could be very unpredictable, no matter how trained he was.

"I'm Alfred," Mathew heard his brother introduce. He saw his brother rise carefully, and extend his hand in where he thought voices were coming from. It was probably by coincidence that his hand was close to the young man. "The other person with me is my twin brother, Mathew. It's nice to meet you."

Mathew thought he saw something in the sky, as the young man shook Alfred's hand. The woman spoke up for the both of them, as Alfred gave her his hand. "Um, privet, hello Alfred and Mathew. I'm Katyusha, and this is my younger brother Ivan."

Alfred titled his head slightly at their names, face unchanging. Ivan looked down at Alfred, the sunflower moving slowly in his fingers, as he waited for him to say something. "Your names…" Alfred began, "They're Russian, I think. Am I right?"

Ivan blinked. He hadn't been expecting that kind of response, but he still held up his guard. His sister immediately read his tension beside her – Alfred had too, as he had moved back to his seat, silently – and Katyusha said, "Yes, they are. We are Russian…"

Ivan waited for the insults. Commie. Trash. Terrorists. American dirt. Enemy. He was sure he had heard them all, and then he was sure that someone was going to come up with something new just to spite him.

"Hm, I like Russia. I heard its winters are actually very beautiful," Alfred said. Mathew smiled, as he added into the conversation, "I have a friend who went there for an exchange program. He said it was nice, where he was."

Katyusha beamed, and Ivan blinked. They were not insulting them or throwing them off their porch. The tall Russian male looked to the blind male beside his brother. If he didn't know any better, he would say that Alfred was looking directly at him. But he couldn't be, because he couldn't see him...

Wait, he could not see him. He was blind, that was what the white over his eyes meant, correct? Then, he could not see him. He may act as if he can. But he cannot. Ivan took that moment to really look at Alfred's eyes.

They were a soft white color, and yet they still held a trace of being blue in some far off time. It was an unique combination, a milky blue. Then, there was the way the milky color seemed to bring out the slight sun tan around his face. He had dimples in his cheeks, and there was that strange little strand of hair standing upright on his head. It was denying gravity.

Ivan could only wonder at it, and as he wondered he failed to see how Alfred's gaze had left his sister to rest solely on him.

"That is so nice to hear, I –" Katyusha said, and right as he was about to say something, Alfred smirked and said, "Ivan. I might not look it, but I can tell you're staring. Care to explain why, big guy?" Mathew jumped in his seat to gape at his brother in almost shock. Katyusha was struck silent, his blue-green eyes wide, as he looked up at her brother.

Ivan was smiling, but he said nothing. He continued to look down at the American male. He saw Alfred look back at him, eyes white and supposedly unseeing. But the smirk that was on his face telling the world he knew.

Ivan twirled the flower in his fingers, again, looking away. He let the moment pass. He had said nothing, as he could say nothing, but only look up and every now and then. His violet hues would meet whitish-blue. Both the Russian and American allowed their siblings to talk, Alfred would chime in every now and then, and Ivan would stand silently.

After some time, Mathew had finally gotten the nerve to ask Katyusha why her brother never spoke, and she explained he was mute. That he had been so for a long time. Ivan had looked up to see how Mathew's face held no pity, but actually a small sense of empathy.

But while he found this somewhat flattering to know that the other wouldn't pity him for now, or for some time in the future, he found he wanted to know Alfred's reaction. When he looked down at the blind blonde, he saw that little smirk again.

The same one that he had worn when he had said he could feel Ivan staring at him. the one that said: "I knew all along."

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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*face desk* Ivan, why you gotta be such a bitch as a fucking mute. (No offense to any mutes out there, because I have a friend who is one. I love you, Kimmy!) But ugh, Ivan tried to kill me with this shit. T-T

Oh yeah, congrats to the person who guessed correctly on Ivan's condition, but tell me, who can tell me: WHY is he mute? And I gave a hint as to it, along with a few other conditions. See if you can point them out. –w—

Yeah, ja…I got you guys stumped. Have fun with brain-mashing from this—

**READ AND REVIEW!**


	4. Unforgivable Darkness

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after being after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

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Author Alert: harrydracoluver4everstephy19 80

Story alert/ Favorites: **My Pretty Russian Flower, Ivan Braginski oJo, DaAwesomeHannaAndHerCharmand er, RaraB, Naruko Uzu, Ashynarr, harrydracoluver4everstephy19 80, summer164, Blueladymare, Blood of the Dawn, My Pretty Russian Flower, Ivan Braginski oJo, psychokittenterror, Silverwing5566, Lazy Gaga, RomericaGO, The STARS .and.I SAY GOODBYE, BekaTheHippy, ryuketsuki, X-x-Kag-Xion-Uchiha-x-X, xXAsteraXx, , MAXBELL9, Kyoya12393**

Reviewer(s)!: **Hunny The Monster, Silver-tao111, PaperDream, Ivan Braginski oJo, Ashcola17, Hikary Sanoko, Guest, trypheria, Animaegan, Lazy Gaga, nadzuke eno mono, Prussian Sinister, Moongirl12121, DanieSora, Elixier Navasuki**

Hunny The Monster: I do know how to count! 1…2…Um, there's applesauce…Prussia….5…um, 74? XDD (Ouch, I've never had braces, good luck with that!) *passes popcorn* My favorite flower is the calla-lily. I like mine pinkish red. ^_^

Naruko Uzu: There's a hint, there…I know it. I just can't see it…Damn.

My Pretty Russian Flower: More pretty flowers, hurrah! :D

Ivan Braginski oJo: *casually walking away* Uh…At least you can't cuss me out yet in this story…? Ugh. I'm going to ignore that last comment and put on a pipe-proof helmet. (Just to warm my head, I swear.) I'm glad you like the story, Ivan. ^_^'

RomericaGO: You are just all over the place, aren't you? X)

Silver-tao111: You hit me…Take responsibility! I will call the shop to acquire my wedding dress! :D

PaperDream: Omigod, REALLY? *gleaming eyes* (…And why would I drop this story? Ve, it's so much fun to write. *Italian smile*)

Ashcola17: You and me, both, girl. You and me both. I'm glad I caught you off-guard. ^w^ Ugh…more? Ah well, can't be helped. One more chapter for the WIN.

Hikary Sanoko: Close, you touched on it, and I'm proud of you. Thank you for complimenting the last chapter! That makes me happy. ^w^

Guest: Yes to both, you're touching on it. I'm so happy that someone got it! ^_^

trypheria: Ivan did lose his voice temporarily, he's like Mattie. And yes. Natalya is no longer with us. You'll find out why later. There are a number of ways that Ivan and Alfred can communicate. We just have to break a barrier first.

Animaegan: You fail and laugh. You are a true pioneer for us all .You're just like me, I fall UP the stairs and wonder where the floor started. XDD

Lazy Gaga: Tragically sweet, I like that line. ^w^

nadzuke eno mono: Ja, yes, it's Russia related. And a lot of other things-related. :)

Prussian Sinister: I hate guessing too, which is why I'm making you do it! :o (That lame review is still a review, so I still love you.)

Moongirl12121: You're touching on it; Natayla's death did play a hand in it. …You are the only one to ask about Kimmy. She was born mostly deaf, so she can't really speak that well. She's nice, though, the nicest little German baby you ever did meet! ^w^

DanieSora: I love it when a plan comes together. I'm glad you're excited about it. ^_^ It means I'm doing something right. (At least, I would hope that I am...)

The STARS .and I. : *sniffs* You're leaving me...and taking my STARS album…? WTF, man? We could have it aaaaallll~! XD *shot*

BekaTheHippy: I'm no hippy, but that's a cute username. ^w^

Elixier Navasuki: Dead scary, I have no idea why I found that funny. XD (But alas, yes our dear Belarus has passed. *Russia cheering in distance* But her death plays a major role in Ivan's condition. I'm glad I took you by surprise! ^w^

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**Bonjour! You all spoil me with all of your lovely responses, I just can't help but thank you all for that! A good few of you touched on Ivan's mute-reason. An anon had it half-right, and then a few of you touched on it further. ^w^ **

**I'm so happy that you guys are participating so~ **

**Thank you all for your time, and please review. **

**(P.S Let us all take a minute to ENJOY THE FACT THAT I'M BAAAACK, BEE-YOTCHES!)**

**:D I'M NOT DEAD YET!**

***coughs* Please read on. Ignore and excuse my bullshit. *bows in apology***

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**.:Chapter Four.**

"_The more you take responsibility for your past and present, the more you are able to create the future you seek."_

– **Unknown Author**

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"Ivan, please…" The middle-aged looking man before him in the leather-backed chair asked, "We both know that enough time has passed. You can speak now," He said as he took off his glasses and rubbed his head. Ivan just stared at him, eyes flat and expression devoid of anything.

The man continued to beg of him to say something, "All of the doctors have told me, and it's alright. No one can get you in here." Ivan said nothing, he felt like he shouldn't say nothing, as he looked down at his hands. He hadn't even noticed but these were the same gloves that Natalya had given him long ago.

* * *

"_Here, big brother_," Her little sweet was still white and nothing to smear its perfection. "_I got you something to keep your hands warm._"

Violet eyes darkened, and broad shoulders tensed. The psychiatric frowned, as he caught the slight movements. He bit his lip, and put his clipboard to the side. He tried to reach out to Ivan, verbally, "Ivan…Ivan, if you can hear me, I need for you to stop."

"_I know you said you didn't want them and that I need some of my own…_" A small blush across pale cheeks, as matching pale hands thrust the dark leather into larger hands. "_But I think you deserve them much more than I do._"

Ivan was soundlessly shaking his head, and his face was growing darker. If the air could grow colder with his mood, then the room temperature would be near below freezing. Violet eyes were quite the sight as dark purple daggers, right before Ivan closed them and disclosed the world entrance to his troubled mind. He hated reliving these memories. Memories, he wished he could burn away.

"_Besides_," Big blue eyes looked up, and that smile was back to be admired. "_I'll always be around for you to get me mine later right, big brother?_"

Memories he would wish to have them leave him alone, instead of forever cursing them with their presence. They were reminder of how much he had failed. They reminded him of all the things he could have done, that he should have done, but he never had time to do.

That he wished he could change…

"**Commie**"

"_You know you can trust me, big brother_." That innocent face, before the fear and hatred had set it in perpetual stone. It was a smile that could light up even the darkest days, and followed by a giggle that could uplift any and every dark mood. Natalya, she had always been just that bright.

"**Commie**"

It was that very same brightness – That was abruptly snuffed out in the worst way, it could ever be.

"_Smile, big brother," _She said, as her image danced his larger form. Natalya was still smiling, unlike him, and even giggling, even though people were giving looks and some were hurrying away silently. Whispers were starting to set in. One word in particular:_ Commie._

"**Commie**"

"_The winters seem warmer when you smile._" She said, taking his hand and trying to lead him through the light falling of snow. Her giggles and laughs were twinkling chimes against the nasty words attempting to pilfer through his ears, against the soft sound of the wind.

"_Smile for me, big brother_," Natalya said. "_Be happy. It's like Papa always said: You have to be your own light in the dark, if you ever want to escape the caves_."

Such sweets words….ended so painfully, and so suddenly.

"**Commie**"

"_Come on, big brother, smile_," she urged. They were standing at a main crossroad. They were waiting for the light to change, so they could walk. People were picking up faster on their foreign accent. People were picking up faster on them; they were seeing their paleness and eyes. People were seeing what made them different. They were seeing what they always claimed to fear.

"_Smile for me, big brother_," The little body next to him urged one last time. The cars were still coming, the light hadn't changed, and yet more people seemed to be pushing against them. He could feel their shoves, and he could hear their hurtful words. "_It's okay to smile, stop looking so afraid all of the time_."

"**Commie**"

"_Big brother…?_" The words were but a question, only asking, but it was the only voice that was needed for Ivan to raise his head and see his little baby sister being mostly glared at and avoided, as she stood in the middle of the nearly open sidewalk. People had created an open area around them, as if they were contagious.

Natalya was looking at him and the people around them and seeing how though the light was good for them to walk… That they were all still standing at the same sidewalk, no one had moved.

He took a few steps, trying to smile apologetically.

He nearly missed that one last word, when he was trying to avoid the iced over parts of the road, as they were walking along.

"**Fucking commie**"

"_Big brother_!" he heard, as he felt his chin collide with the ground. His teeth bit through his tongue, copper spilling over his taste buds, and he held back a whimper. "_Are you alright?_" He heard her ask, as he tried to help him up.

The cold helped to numb some of the pain, but he could still feel it. He could feel the heated look of the person who had tripped him. Dirty snow was now on Ivan's coat, and a look of 'why?' was in his eyes.

And yet the only answer, he received was:

"**Tch. Loser**"

He felt small but warm hands on his shoulders, and he saw her face. The face of before, when she wasn't afraid or losing her innocence. She was still Natalya. The smile she wore right then was so pure as the sky on a clear day. "_It's alright, big brother. Remember what mother used to say: 'Sticks and stones may be thrown to break our bones, but their words will not hurt me._"

It was too bad that words would be the eventual clause of the death of what was once such a sweet girl.

* * *

"Ivan," Ivan felt the vaguely familiar voice call him back. He looked up, with tired eyes, and just stared at the man in front of him. His hair was nearly all white, but he was blonde. Just like Natalya used to have, before the world decided they wanted to try and paint it a different color without her consent.

"Ivan?" Said young man just shook his head, silently, and then bowed his head to look down at the floor. He didn't want to see those blue eyes anymore. They may not have Natalya's, but they were close. And they weren't helping him feel any better. It was the same, every visit.

Nothing changed. Ivan was still stuck mourning over his past and the person who was forced to remain there forever. They forced her to be a part of the past. It was not like an old toy, where you could easily come down and reclaim it. No, it was like the young sapling caught in the careless mower's path. That sapling was never allowed to grow big and strong.

Its roots died away, and soon all that was left of the sapling were your memories of how hard it tried to overcome the mowing. How hard it tried to fight to live. How hard that sapling wanted to try grow big and strong, so everyone could see the fruits of its strength and endurance of life. How hard it tried not to give up and just end its suffering.

How…in the end…the chance to grow big and strong was eventually given up. It was given up, so that sapling would stop feeling the wind lash out at its inner rings. Feel the unforgiving rain further break it apart and scatter the pieces all around it, and mock it with the parts it needed to survive.

The sapling gave up, and eventually withered away. It left behind a small plot of soil. Soil it had planned to use to grow big and strong, but would never get to fully use. All that was left behind was memories…

* * *

"Ivan?"

_Only memories_, Ivan thought, as he felt his eyes burn painfully. The bruises were no longer there, they had faded long ago. His scars were white now, all nice and glossy and healed. His skin was pale, but it was a living color, and it didn't share the same space as his blood.

A dark sound started in his throat. It wasn't a laugh, really. It was like a broken sob, crossed with a desperate chuckle. "k-ol, k-k-ol, ko-ol," the broken tune continued to play with Ivan's numb voice. The voice he truly believed he had lost when another was ended so pitifully. No tears left his eyes. His tears had died with the sweet girl that hatred had took right in front of him.

Right in front of him. He hadn't been able to do anything. He hadn't done anything to save her. He didn't save her. He didn't save her, when she was crying or screaming for his help. He let her cry, and he let her bleed. Her let them take the sweet girl away from him. He let them take away some of his spirit.

Her screams were where his voice ended. When her voice gave out, it was like his vanished with it. If her twinkling melody could no longer be heard, then his ugly guffaw didn't even deserve to be heard either. He could never tell himself that it wasn't his fault. He had no voice. No one can defend himself without a voice. No one can speak up without a voice.

Without a voice, you're pitiful. Even a blind man could defend himself with words. But a mute man, one who has seen murder, cannot. They are not allowed to speak. God took away that privilege. He said they were pathetic and pitiful, and that they should just accept it. They should just accept they are the bane of existence.

Pitiful. That's what he was. He was pitiful. He was just dirt on the bottom of someone else's shoe. No matter what he did to build up, how hard he tried to prove his worth. How he made to climb the one ladder he believed would show he was someone to be trusted and accepted. Someone to like…someone that was worthy of showing kindness to.

"K-ol, k-k-ol, ko-ol," the broken tune continued to play. There was a sigh, and a shuffle of feet. There was the sound of a door opening and closing. There was the sound of voices. Words of: 'too soon', and 'not yet ready to talk about it' and 'maybe next time'

Lies, they were all lies. It was too late to save him. He was damned from the beginning. He would never be ready to talk about anything. And most likely, there was never going to be a next time.

There was no redemption for the those who watched murder.

Someone familiar came and took him away, and said they were going home. But he didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay in his little world. The little word where Natalya could still see him. The world where she still said: 'I love you, big brother' without crying or without bandages on her face and limbs.

The world where he was the one was saved her from them. Where she was still alive, and she had forgiven him. But who forgives the damned? Who could?

How do you forgive the one who let and watched you die?

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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I honestly believe that racism is pointless. And it's especially worse if you do it to children. They don't know shit. They can't help shit. They didn't DO shit. Why the fuck would you punish them for something they didn't even have any control over?

Racist bastards…

I felt so bad for Ivan this chapter. Please note: He's in a bit of therapy this chapter. That's the reason for the guy earlier. Obviously, these sessions aren't going so well...

Poor Ivan. You'll find more clarification for Natalya later. Her death is major to Ivan's condition. And Alfred also has some demons of his own that you all will get to see. ^w^

**OFF TOPIC:** how many people will vote on my poll? Ithere's a new one, and I want votes. VOTE.

**P.S:** Haha, why am I updating when I have a research paper due soon? Hurr hurr. I'm so pathetic. v.v

**READ AND REVIEW!**


	5. An Indistinguishable Border

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See something so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

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**Wow…You guys really enjoy this story…;w;**

**I really can't believe it, all the new favorites/follows/reviews…I see them and go: "Why aren't there more of these guys in the world?"**

**And then I remember: "Oh yeah, no one could decide on the last pizza topping…Damn it."**

…

**Yup. That's what happened. Look it up, it's in the History textbooks. :P**

***sarcasm***

**Oh yeah, guys, I had my "Sad" playlist on, when I typed this…JUST LETTING YOU KNOW.**

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**.:Chapter Five.**

"_I like to think there is good in the world, but that it is unseen until it is needed."_

–**Author Unknown**

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Mathew was rushing, he was late to Alfred's appointment, and it was already dark. He had been supposed to be in there, about an hour ago. He had utterly missed it. And why?

Why the answer was simple: The date of the anniversary was barely a half of a week off. It was too close for either of the brother's comfort. Mathew was becoming more quiet, and sluggish. He would go still and stiff in an action, and remain like that for random intervals of time.

Alfred was complaining of his eyes bringing up white flashes in his "vision" and that his face would burn at that one time of the day. Both of their pains were always the most severe at that one time of the day:

It would be 7:30 in the night, and it was then that Alfred would cry out, seemingly randomly, as immense waves of pain would try to devastate his nervous system. His mind would go back to being younger, when he still thought of growing up and being "like the guy who discovered the pyramids and King Tut's tomb!"

When his eyes would open and all the public would see was a bright and happy little boy with blonde hair and bright sky-blue eyes…when, their looks didn't include pity.

* * *

_Before his mother turned in her seat in the front of the car, to smile at her precious boys in the backseat, and ask Alfred to see if Mattie was cold. The younger twin grew colder easier than most, but seldom got hot; Alfred was the opposite. It was a joke in the family that their differences were the very thing that kept the boys so close, beyond their twin compatibility._

"_Ya cold?" Alfred asked, turning in his seat belt. His twin brother smiled, still missing his two front teeth, while Alfred missed his two bottom teeth._

"_A little…" Mattie whispered, trying to smile as he hid his face in the blanket of polar bears in his lap. He peeked out, and Alfred poked his nose, and laughed. They were both laughing in the back seat, as their family's vehicle came to stop in an early red light._

"_Mattie's fine, Ma," Alfred told his mother, and she smiled back at them. Their dad even took the moment to smile at them in the rear view mirror. The family was all smiles and no frowns…just the steadily oncoming bright lights. Was it in the wrong lane?_

_But something was off in the distance with bright lights? They thought if it was another vehicle then it would stop. Or if it was a late restaurant, then they could just put the blinders in its direction._

_The oncoming lights grew brighter._

_Alfred and Mathew were still giggling to each other, this time talking about turtles and frogs to catch over the weekend, when their parents turned back to the road. Their light turned green, and just as the car started to move forward, disaster would strike in the worst way._

_Their mother was the first to react:_

"_**Sam**__!"_

* * *

It was late, but how far along so, he didn't know. He just knew that it was much quieter than it had been earlier. This could only mean that his brother was running late, but Alfred had tried to use the excuse of the upcoming anniversary. It was throwing them both off…but for some reason, this year, it just felt worse.

Alfred held back a groan, as he held his head. Pain flared up, behind his eyes, seemingly an inferno in the back of his skull. It hurt. Everything hurt. Moving his head hurt. His neck ached, and felt like any minute, if he so dared to move it, it would snap in half.

But death sounded more appealing, with each passing moment.

"Shi—" Alfred was never given a moment to finish his sentence, before the pain suddenly vanished and then returned ten-fold. It was like being slapped with a rubber band. The pain was elastic, and came back harder to him each and every time.

The blonde swayed on his feet, in the bathroom. He felt nauseous. He didn't feel good. Taking a hand to his brow, he felt the cold sweat against his heated fingertips. His ears popped, and then it felt like he could have cotton stuck in his ears.

"Mat…tie," Alfred tried to manage, "Where…are you?" Alfred tried to hang onto the marble countertop of the male's restroom, but his nerves…His hands shook, and his fingers never found grip on the smooth surface. A mere second later, he was going down, but not straight down, no.

His head cracked against the counter, making him blink as a fraction of the pain left him and then in joined a new pain. An actual physical one, instead of the phantom pains. His milky eyes would spring open, and then close right as his head collided harshly on the hard floors.

His disturbance in the restroom was heard by someone leaving an elevator. Someone tall, who wasn't too busy talking or having the will to talk or start a conversation with anyone on board the metal cage going down through the floors.

While everyone else was leaving, he would hear the small crash. He would be the one to investigate…but he would also be the one who couldn't call for help, because he had no voice. However, that didn't stop him from running down a hallway, and finding someone who could.

It didn't stop him from trying to stop the bleeding, his ability to actually do so, and coming from all the wounds he himself had had to stop on his own. The only thing that stopped him was the EMTs who asked if he was family, when they arrived with the ambulance.

He had had to shake his head, and step down from the steps. He had had to see them frown, when he didn't answer, and then shake their heads and shut the door. He watched them speed away. Even though, he knew it probably shouldn't have, for some reason, it tore him inside to stand there in the cold.

For some reason, he felt the need to look east…and he did. A great clock sat on the same tower as the sign for the therapy clinic. It read exactly:

7:30

* * *

"_**Sam**__!"_

_The call of a name— it was the last thing that Gina Williams-Jones was able to scream, before she tried to turn in her seat to shield the babies she most treasured. Unfortunately, her efforts to shield them were failed as a metal shaft shot through her head, and the gruesome scene caused her older son to scream in horror. _

_Only for his horror to be followed by pain, as the glass windshield shattered and glass exploded over his exposed face and skin. The younger child wailed, as the car flipped and tumbled over others before smashing against a telephone pole and rocking to a sudden jerk of a halt._

_The father in the vehicle, a Mr. Samuel Jones was tossed several meters away, his arm barely hanging onto his shoulder, and his chest uneven, his legs bent and bloody; as his head smashed almost fatally with the asphalt._

_It all happened so fast…_

* * *

The squeal of someone's brakes, the long honk of horns, it was all in vain. The screaming of a woman, the shouting of a man, their voices merging in the dark of night and melting to a single note of tremendous pain and the last cries of death. The cries of two small children filled the air, where some were present, some young lives cut and others damaged beyond repair.

Then, the horns of others, the ones who hadn't been directly touched by the massacre, the cries of their children at the horrifying spectacle that had taken place right in front of them. The shouts of more wounded and killed innocent people. The screams for someone to call 911, as people tried to find ways around the surging fires taking hold of cars and trying to find survivors – any survivors…

So much devastation and bloodshed, it was one of the days to mark down in history as one of the most tragic nights.

A delivery truck's brakes had failed somewhere along on an interstate, and the vehicle had kept going. It ran through several cars, before it came to plow into the Jones-Williams' family vehicle.

The mother was killed immediately. The grill of the truck had gotten mangled somewhere in the time of its prior car plowing, and one of the severed metal grids had worked its fatal way through her. The father was nearly killed, on the brink, from the force as his side was thrown out.

The children were no better off. The older blonde was shattered with glass, and when fire caught, the pieces of glass that had blown into his eyes were set aflame in the blaze.

The youngest child had been in a sort of car belt, and tucked under a blanket – the only thing that saved him from a similar fate as his brother. Nonetheless, his chest was all but crushed when the vehicle flipped, his throat nearly crushed as well; his windpipe was permanently damaged as his lungs inhaled the smoke while and where it was most thick.

The accident killed a total of nearly ten people: including the mother of the Jones-Williams family and the truck driver. But the damage done to the total present was vaster. More than twenty people changed forever.

A mother torn from her family; a father missing his arm and nearly breaking all of his ribs and going into a small coma for several days, only to awake to find about his deceased wife and that there might be little hope for his sons.

The same two little boys, who were about the age of about seven: one now forever blind, with little to no chance of successful transplant, and given Post-Traumatic Syndrome at such a young age; the other suffering from poor health for months, his eyesight suffering with his lungs and soon diagnosed with a epilepsy.

All changed forever…

* * *

"He's not, like, responding…at _all!_" An EMT, named Feliks, shouted, as a pair of hands tried to encourage breathing, while another tried to properly bandage the severe wound on his head.

"Feliks!" Toris, a fellow EMT, tried to shout above him and the wail of the ambulance siren. "You can't use his eyes for guidance!" Toris looked down, and watched milky eyes look back at him. They were heavily lidded with both pain and the inductions of the IV. They looked almost pleading, begging for any release of the pain tormenting him.

"I think this man is blind…" Toris whispered, and both the ambulance driver and Feliks responded in unison: "What?"

Toris looked down at the man on the stretcher, flicking a small light over his pupils. Feliks' breath sucked in, as he saw the white color and dull pupils. "Holy shit…" The Polish young man breathed, "What do we, like, do now?"

The young Polish man was panicking, the driver too and the bleeding and pained blonde was growing paler. It was almost as if the IV had no effect to him. Was he in that much pain? From a head wound? Could there be a concussion, or might there be something more?

"We need to help him, of course," Toris said firmly, as he could manage. He began recalling what he could remember on what to do in certain situations. Giving orders to the driver to speed up their pace to the hospital, he looked to Feliks.

"First things first," Toris began, as he took the blind man's hand and tried to encourage him to focus. "We treat him like any other patient who needs our help." Toris smiled, as he saw Feliks smile down at the blind man.

"Right," Feliks agreed, "He still needs our help. I'll do it." Working diligently, and quickly, they tried to bring the blind man from the cloud of pain he was experiencing to a much safer level. Luckily, for them, even when their efforts seemed to fail, their ambulance had reached the hospital to which more experienced doctors could save him.

Hopefully.

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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Damn… I need to get rid of that playlist. D:

Someone once asked me if it could have also been a case of death by texting and driving, and I will say possibly. The driver might have called for help, we may never know, he died in the accident. As did A/M's mother and 8 other victims.

Wow, well, first off why I'm so late. As soon of you may know: my flash drive and all of its contents were stolen from me a few weeks past; I've spent the last few weeks time to retrieve back all that I could.

Note: What I could translates to what I had already uploaded. Anything not on my computer or on my FFnet Document Manager was stolen from me as while.

Please be assured, if I know the bastard that took my shit— Even, Belarus would cower in fear in what I would do to him, within the first five minutes. I had other work on that flash drive, as well. it wasn't just my FFnet work. :(

Ah well, it feels good to be back, though. And with a chapter, better yet! :)

**READ AND REVIEW!**


	6. Once Upon a New Moon

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See something so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

* * *

**OMG, guys, the greatest thing EVER happened to me, while I was checking over my email a little while ago. I found this story, yes, this VERY STORY, in my favorite community for Hetalia.**

**And this is a hard community to get into, you have to have a certain amount of reviews/favorites/follows to even be a possible nominee. I used to think I would never get a chance to be on there.**

**But then: I saw an update, and I was all: "Ja! New stalker material!" But when I opened it, I saw:**

"_Hetalia: Love is Blind_**"**

**I can't thank you all enough for that. I used to think I would never get in, but you guys taught me better. I-I actually cried a little, when I saw it there. I really did.**

**Danke for your reviews, favorites and follows. They mean a lot, if you didn't already know.**

**EDIT: For all and any of the Sandy survivors and the victims, my heart goes to you. Gott bless you and may your prayers be answered. I wish for the best of luck to you all.**

**EDIT 2: **Oh yeah, oh yes, we made it to 80 reviews, guys! Danke so much! :) My 80th reviewer was Mina888, and because of her, you all were given a fresh update to torment yourselves with. Have fun with it. Enjoy the FEELS.

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**.:Chapter Six.**

"_God, grant me the serenity to accept things that I cannot change;_

_The courage to change the things I can; And the wisdom to know the difference_."

– **-Dr. Reinhold Niebuhr**

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_Mommy_…

"Mommy…" The little boy groaned, but he didn't think that his voice made it through his dry and chapped lips. But wait, no, there was something on them. He thought he could taste it…but it tasted funny, like maybe it wasn't really meant to be tasted. It tasted flavorless, maybe like bad mineral water, but worse?

He tried again. Alone and scared, the little boy called out for the one who had promised him to be always be there. It was the very same person that he couldn't see anymore.

A broken voice in the dark wailed, "Mommy, I want my mommy!" There were beeping noises all around him. There were so many voices. He was scared. He thought he was lost. But he couldn't be sure.

Everything was so weird, he couldn't see anything. It was like when he had been blindfolded at this one birthday party and spun around. But no one was lifting his blindfold, and no one was trying to steady him. If anything, they were making everything worse with their convergence of voices.

He began to breathe harder. Why was it so hard to breathe? He could remember a time when it was so hard to breathe. He had thought he was going to die…

He couldn't breathe…! Why the Hell couldn't he breathe…?!

".._Momm-y_..!"

* * *

"_Sam!"_

Alfred turned his head to see his mother: Her blond curls bouncing about her head, her blue-purple eyes wide and full of fear. Alfred hadn't understood, just then, what was happening. But then he felt the car suddenly swerve, as a loud crunching and scratching noise was heard. The tipping started, albeit slow and awkward at first –

Nevertheless, he jerked around in his seatbelt, being too thin to actually hold in place, but when Alfred opened his eyes and mouth to complain to his parents, he saw a grey blur shoot through his father's shoulder, knock the grown man away and through the severed door –

And the bar go right into his mother's head–

Her eyes bulged, blood shot from her mouth, a whole arc and splash came from her and splashed over him and Mattie's blanket.

His mommy! What was wrong?

Her curls painted an ugly shade of brown, as her body was forced to turn and then driven out the window. Alfred's heart was in his throat, as he prepared his mouth to scream, only for in the next few seconds, as he took a tight grip on Mattie's blanket, scaring the younger horribly, as an explosion of glass showered over him.

Pain.

He had never felt such excruciating pain. He felt like he had showed with millions of tiny and hot needles. All of them had come at him at once, they gave him no time to be a hero, to save his little brother, as the car began to do somersaults and throw him around.

There was stuff in his eyes. He kept trying to claw it out, screaming, and falling around. His chest hit the floor, the battered roof and then more broken glass. Several shards were stabbing into him, all of them burning hot and making his skin tingle really bad… and then he felt an especially painful one; that one surge of pain through him that made him catch on his breath and just stare at the ground.

His hands were shaking, his mouth wouldn't stop dripping and he tried to look. He wished he hadn't.

He had fallen in a pile of glass, and red painted pieces the sizes of his arm were looking back at him. At least, he thought they were. They were so fuzzy. His eyes burned, and he wished he could rub them. They were so itchy.

But he couldn't even scream, just choke on what was coming up from his throat. He threw up, thinking his face must have been turning blue since he felt he was holding back his breath.

He didn't know he was actually a deathly white, far too pale to be normal.

He could hear screaming around him, but he couldn't move. He just kept staring at the glass, all of the blood around him, and just cried. He kept crying. It hurt. Everything hurt. He felt like he had to pee, but he was afraid there was glass there too.

He thought he saw footsteps. People gasping, and then the sight of his hands coming to grab him. But when he looked up, they gasped as some started screaming and saying bad words. But they backed away. They looked like they had just seen a monster. But they were looking at him.

He was a monster, now.

Alfred reached out a bloody and shaking arm to them, glass shards and blood and the sight of burned and bloody flesh where the fire and glass had gone through his jacket. The people…they just shook their heads, some lady (it sounded like a woman, anyways) just cried in a man's (he guessed) arms as he patted her back. Again, he had had to assume, because they were all weird looking now. He couldn't see them.

But they didn't take his head, but for one person. Alfred thought he was a big buy, had to be a guy, and they said: "All's right, child, just hang in there."

Alfred tried to nod, as the 'man' ran a hand through his hair. He felt some tingles across his burned and bloody scalp, but otherwise, it felt nice. All too soon, Alfred felt tired, his pain nearly overwhelming, too overbearing, and he thought he would rest his eyes just for a little while…

Someone or something pinched his hand, and his eyes sprang open. The big man was still there, and Alfred thought he heard people yelling at the man. Some of them were calling him a weird name… "Commie?"

The man didn't seem to be paying the group any mind, and made a cocking motion with his head at Alfred, and then said, "Don't fall asleep. Hang on."

Alfred nodded, although frowning, but did as he told. It hurt, and although he saw grey in his vision and felt what felt like sleep pulling at him, he resisted. He told himself to be strong, despite everything and all the pain and screaming, as the big man patted his hand and took the glass from his hair gently. It all felt so nice, even though the man was a complete stranger, it still felt so nice…

He felt sort of okay amidst everything, well that is until he saw white and red blurs.

Someone pushed the big man away, shouting at him, and Alfred felt afraid. He tried to raise his head, and he thought he met someone in the eye because they doubled back, spewing bad words so fast Alfred almost didn't catch them all.

Alfred blinked, it hurt and he stopped. He coughed, though no smoke was around him. His chest just hurt something awful, and he felt his breath grow shallower and shallower without the big man to help him along.

He heard the people in red and white exclaim that it was a miracle that he was still alive, how they kept saying his face and then stopping. One red and white blur, they sounded like a lady, she cupped his face and Alfred winced. There was glass there, some of it nearly burned or boiled into his skin.

"Oh poor baby…" Alfred heard her say, and he nearly made a face. Well, if it didn't hurt to just move his lips, he would have. But as it was, he just tried to wrinkle his nose. The lady kept on, "Now you just hand in there, until we get to the hospital, got it?"

The red and white blur's voice had a thick Southern Belle accent, like his aunt on his dad's side, his Aunt Ruth. Though Aunt Ruth tended to add in some French swears, here and there, since she claimed she was of French descent because she lived in Louisiana.

Alfred tried to nod, but his head felt so heavy. He felt his eyes slip closed, but he promised himself that he would wake up. The Southern-voiced lady didn't wake him up like the big man did, and Alfred didn't know whether to be happy or not.

All he knew was this: He nearly didn't wake up at all. He saw his mother, but her face was fine. She looked up and saw him and just cried. She just openly sobbed and then she ran away. He called after her, tried to run after her, but he felt something pull him back. But he didn't want to fall back, he wanted his mommy.

The invisible hands on him didn't want him to have his Mommy.

* * *

Surgery in the ICU

That was what Mathew Victorian Williams-Jones was told. He just stared at the nurse, eyes wide and seemingly unseeing, before the tears came and he just fell to the floor. He just lost consciousness, then and there. He didn't even hear the nurse call for help or a doctor.

Surgery in the ICU, it was all that he could think about. It was his entire fault. He knew that it would always be his fault. He had been the one late, but his brother was paying the price. It wasn't fair. Damn his seizures, their gaps in time, how he felt both weightless and heavy.

He woke up in a regular room, eyes blinking into focus, and coming into sight of concerned emerald and bushy brows and teary-eyed midnight blues with a…odd form. There was a larger and bigger form behind the oddly formed one too.

Mathew blinked, confused, his vision unfocused. He nearly panicked, his mind going back to a nightmare of being in the shoes of Alfred as the one devastated by being blind. But then someone jumped up, the emerald-eyed form, and unfolded his glasses. Besides a slight new scratch, they were fine.

Mathew blinked and took in the people around slowly. There was Arthur, more of Alfred's friend than his, also their neighbor and "mother hen" as quoted by Alfred. There were also the new neighbors: Katyusha and Ivan.

"A-are you al-r-right?" Katyusha only barely managed to stammer, taking a new tissue from Ivan. The taller male kept looking at him, not with pity, but with a sense of curious concern, as if he had never known what it felt like to be surrounded by people who cared for your well-being.

_Poor guy_, Mathew thought, before he hurriedly shook his head, mindful of the powerful migraine that was brewing behind his eyes and sighed. "I…don't know."

Katyusha sniffed, her hands clasping together over his ample breasts, as Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. Ivan was silent, as Mathew had expected him to be. But then a phone screen was put into his face. Ivan was looking at him, concerned.

**[What is wrong? Where is your brother?]**

Mathew blinked. He hadn't even seen the other even take the phone out of his pocket, let alone type a message. Mathew also noticed that Ivan wasn't wearing his coat, with it missing and thus revealing: an orange sweater and khaki slacks, dark boots.

Katyusha didn't seem to be bothered by Ivan using the phone to 'communicate', though the other made a series of hand gestures at her that she seemed to reluctantly nod to. Arthur just stood and stared, before realizing himself and trying to do so without being obvious about it. Arthur had never met a mute before, or at least not one like Ivan.

Mathew read over the message again, and then bit his lip. He sighed again, feeling the pieces of his soul slip away from him with each one, and then he said: "He's in the ICU…I was late to get him."

Ivan's phone came back with another message; Mathew found that was both amazed and slightly envious at the other's fast fingers.

**[I am sorry. I am sure he will alright. He does not seem the person to give up so easily.]**

Mathew blinked, wondering if Ivan was just that perceptive or if he was like Alfred: that he could just see through when a person faked being kind and when the warmth to other was genuine. Was he? Could he be?

Mathew didn't know, but he spoke aloud to Ivan's message, "I would hope so…I'm…I'm afraid." He didn't know why it hurt to say that last part. Mathew had always been afraid for Alfred.

No matter how many times the other claimed he was fine, how well he hid the tension in his face and body. How he would smile, despite when it was raining, and Mathew knew that if his own body was hurting, then Alfred was doubly so.

**[I know people. Certain ones just look determined to live.]**

Mathew felt his lip tremble at that. He felt his eyes just burn. People had said the same thing about his _mother_, because of her childhood. He felt a small bit of anger rise up in him, before he stopped it flat. He forced his hands to unclench his hands bunched in the sheets around his waist.

Ivan couldn't possibly have known about that. He was only trying to cheer him up. But Mathew was looking to release the anger he had for himself for being late on someone who hadn't even been involved let alone there to see Alfred gone down.

He almost missed when Ivan appeared with another message, this one more concerned seeming than his first.

**[Are you alright, yourself? Do you require assistance of any kind?]**

Mathew finished reading and then quickly shook his head to indicate no, and then thought better of it. His throat was beginning to become drier, so he turned to Arthur and asked of him to bring him a cup of water. The Englishman raised a large brow at the request, but after a grunt that he hadn't been finished with studying the newcomers, he left.

Then Ivan and Katyusha were left. The female Russian was holding her face in her hands, her back was bowed and when she raised her hand, Mathew saw the beginnings of dark bags under her eyes underneath the tear streaks. The woman was tired.

Mathew bit his lip, and then said, "As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to try and get some sleep here, I don't think I can make the drive home right now. Uh," he tried to continue, bit his tongue several times, as his new neighbors tried to follow his words.

"Um, you guys can go home for the night. But thank you for coming," he added quickly, "It means a lot. I…I'll try and get home tomorrow to let you know if I find out anything about Alfred." Katyusha smiled gently, whilst Ivan gave his version of a tired smile. The Russian male's fingers were fast and furious on the phone screen, before he presented it again.

**[Oh. Alright then. Get plenty of rest, Matvey. Good night.]**

Mathew smiled slightly, mouthing a "Thank you", as his guests left and he just let himself fall back. His hands found the slightly charred and worn silver chain. It had once belonged to his mother, and Mathew found himself thumbing the finicky lock open to reveal:

An antique and classical style of clock on one side, and then a small family photo of smiling couple with a grinning baby missing his bottom two teeth as another dozed in the woman's arms, his mouth open to reveal how he was missing his top front teeth.

Mathew smiled, feeling his eyes burn once more, as he sniffed. A tear drop made it to the sealed picture, and Mathew couldn't help but thumb the image of his mother. He had never even really gotten to know her. His memories of his mother were few, but from what he recalled of her, he had come to this conclusion: She hadn't deserved to die.

But then again, who would've died in her place, if she hadn't?

A pang of fear and pain went through Mathew's heart. He really hoped Alfred wouldn't to suffer for another one of Mathew's actions or words. He couldn't even bear the thought of losing Alfred. He didn't want to even think of what a mess he'd be…

Alfred had to live. Mathew wasn't sure that he would live with the guilt if his brother didn't. Alfred F. Jones had to survive.

* * *

Ivan and his sister stood beside Ivan's car, and the older of the two sniffled. She shook her head, looking back up at the hospital, and whispered, "All over again…I don't want it to happen again, Ivan…"

Said young man said nothing, just looked down at his feet, and then waited a minute, before he took his sister's hand and placed in her palm his phone with a newly typed message:

**[The strong are among the stars, and the Moon. They never truly fall.]**

Katyusha looked up at her brother, saw right to his violet eyes and saw something stirring in them, just before the other broke eye contact to see the moon. But Katyusha had seen it.

It was a small twinkle in the stars to match the slight twinkle beginning in Ivan's eyes. She saw it, and then looked at the hospital in passing glance as she went to the passenger's side.

There had been a shooting star soaring across the sky, as they drove home. Ivan didn't seem to pause, but Katyusha looked up through the sun roof and made a wish. She hoped that it would work.

Stars may not fall, but do they answer prayers?

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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You know…I kind of think that "Sad" playlist should stay on my iPod. It's very creative, and I'm loving how everything comes together~

Picking of together, I got hit on by some idiot the other day. He was like making BIRD CALLS at me, and I was holding my dog's leash like: "Should I…?"

I decided not to. I had a pit bull, it might get messy and I want to set a good example. :x

Oh yeah, because of Hurricane Sandy, updates may be like…MIA or some shit for a while. NY is in a bit a panic right now. Me included. :x

Any questions? Comments? Leave it in a review and make me have a smile for my day~

~Bai-Marionette

**READ AND REVIEW!**


	7. A Distinctive Warmth

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See something so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

* * *

**It just feels good to be back, after all the mess that my life has been lately. **

**Enjoy the update and the little bit of RusAme, you lucky little fan-warriors. :)**

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**.:Chapter Seven:.**

"_I am bigger than anything that can happen to me. All these things: sorrow, misfortune, and suffering, are outside my door. I am in the house and I have the key._"

– **Charles Fletcher Lummis**

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It had felt like he had been in the utter dark for a long time. He had been unconscious for he didn't even know how long. But he knew it was time to wake up now. He had to wake up. Something told him that if he didn't wake up now, he wouldn't get a chance later.

The easy question was to ask what he was going to do; and the simple answer was to get the Hell out of wherever he was in his mind. Now for the hard question: How to get out of here in the first place?

Alfred sat in the darkest recesses of his mind, thinking and plotting. Then, at some sudden breath of an instant, something moved beside him. He turned to see what or who it was, and wasn't actually surprised to see nothing but darkness beside him. Being here was not much different from being in reality. He still couldn't see, and he often felt foolish for thinking he would able to see otherwise.

He felt something tickling his chin, and when he batted it away, the tickling swiftly turned to a firm grip on his hand. Someone was pulling him to his feet. But Alfred stumbled, for some reason, his head hurt something awful.

He groaned, because then just as he was wobbling and still trying to gain his footing, the presence holding him up left. Alfred tried to take a step without it, but then it was at his back and holding him still. He tried to move against it, and they moved with him, but in a different direction entirely.

The American wanted to snap at the figment of his imagination, as he suddenly pulled away to take off – Only to end up feeling himself falling forward. Just as he anticipated impact, he was caught yet again, and then helped back to his feet. He was gently ushered back in the other direction, and Alfred became more afraid than angry.

He didn't know where he was being led.

He couldn't even ask either; he had learned that a long time ago. In spells like these, you had to hope for the best. He sincerely hoped he was being led in a good direction.

He didn't remember how long he walked, letting himself be led. He tried to send out his other senses to pick up things, but he never came up with much. Just the smell of crushed ice and fresh rain, it wasn't a good or bad smell, but it was different. It was familiar somehow, but he couldn't remember how.

For a long time, he just tried to enjoy the walking. If he stumbled, that little protective force caught him again and then waited for him to adjust before they moved on again. It simply went on like that, until all at once, it just vanished.

Alfred stumbled, and it didn't catch him. He hit the hard ground, and imagined the pain in his shoulder would turn out to be a bruise. He groaned, and then looked around in the dark – forgetting briefly how he still couldn't see – and saw to his utter surprise:

A soft glow in the distance, it was slow to brighten but it dimmed only briefly to a soft grey before going back to a warm golden color. Alfred blinked, as he tried to rub his eyes free of whatever may have been in them. But there was nothing over his eyes. He could truly see the floating orb a mere few feet from him.

Alfred tried to rush to his feet, while the orb was still in his sights, as the American was literally grinning from ear to ear. He could see it! Even after a brief second, in which he blinked several times to be sure -He could _still_ see it! It wasn't blurry or disfigured or anything! It was really there – right in his sights, and he could see it.

A tear escaped him. Sure, it was simply a strange ball of light, but he could see it. No, it wasn't his mother, or a beautiful flower or something that most people would cry to see again. But it was _something_ that he could actually see. That was all that Alfred could care about.

Alfred set to walking towards the ball of light, and in response, the ball seemed to glow brighter. It was so inviting. Just as Alfred outreached his hand to grab it, and see it felt as warm as it looked, the ball suddenly shivered and went out.

It just shivered, as if a gust of frigid wind had struck it down, and then: The light was gone.

Alfred was left in the dark again, and before he could cry at the sudden shock of being in the dark nothingness once again –

He awoke, connected to several tubes and needles and everything else. And he was reminded of his body's condition in reality: He was blind. Despite all that he could feel around him, he couldn't see. He groaned in pain, shifting his arms and his feet. He winced. Something wasn't right on either his shoulder or upper arm, he had felt pain. What irony.

"Al? Al, is that you?"

Alfred blinked, not that it did anything to clear up his loss of sight, as he turned his weary head in the direction of his brother's voice. He barely managed to hold back the sob in his throat, to conjure up a smile, as he said through his dry and tightened throat, "In the flesh and blood, why yes, I am."

"How are you? Does anything hurt," Mathew was persistent. Alfred had to force himself to keep his smile, but in his mind, he wanted to say his true feelings. His brother continued, "Do I need to get a nurse?"

"Nah…" Alfred managed, and then tried to shift in the hospital bed. He winced, and heard the scuff of a chair as his brother got up. But it wasn't anything really, in Alfred's opinion. He had just moved wrong, apparently, he had broken something too. Wonderful. He didn't even remember doing it, couldn't even see it, but the result was the same.

Alfred blinked, as he heard something in the hall. Mathew hadn't closed the door. Alfred could hear someone's feet, and he thought they had to be either someone confident or just big in the hospital, because they had sure steps.

The confident steps stopped short of his door, and Alfred held his breath. Was it a doctor? He didn't feel like hearing another doctor tell him that he was lucky to be alive again. He never felt lucky. He felt like shit. This hospital's pain medication was shit too. Everything was shit.

This was not a good day.

"Mr. Jones?" A perky voice called into the room. Alfred guessed correctly that it was a nurse, just by her exuberant attitude. But her steps were light and springy. She couldn't have been the one earlier walking down the hall…

"I have a visitor for you, you lucky dog, you!" The nurse charmed, and Alfred managed a smirk. He tried to laugh, as he said, "Well, I can't really say no to a person who came to see me, can I? Let 'em in."

"Sure thing!" The nurse replied, and sure enough the woman turned to someone behind her, and said, "He'll see you. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." There a pause, and then the nurse giggled. "Don't try to sweet talk, Mr. Nice Guy! Go on in there, before Mr. Jones' meds put him back to Snooze-ville. Ba-bye, and good night to you!"

The confident steps began again, and then Mathew squeaked, "Is that all for Alfred?"

"What happened?" Al turned his head to the door, giving the one a good view of him. The American had gauze wrapped around his head, a slight stitch on his lip, and more wrappings under his shirt collar. A small bruise lay on the American's chin, and then there was the wrapped wrist and ankle for all eyes to see.

Well, the eyes that could see anyways.

"Um, thank you, ah Ivan, bu-but I don't honestly know what to say…" Mathew said, and Alfred frowned. Why was that name familiar? Oh yes! His new neighbors, if he had remembered correctly. Good, he didn't have memory loss.

"What did he bring?" al asked, and then continued in his mind: _Because unlike the rest of you, I can't see for myself_. But even saying it in his mind didn't give Alfred much justice. It still hurt. But not too long ago, he had seen that little orb of light. He knew he had. But he couldn't see it anymore.

"Al? Are you alright?" Said American snapped his attention back to his brother's voice. When had he started talking? Or better yet, how long had he been talking?

"I-I'm fi-" Alfred cut himself off, as he felt a familiar weight on his shoulders again. The same one that had once sagged under its own weight on Alfred's body was now being warmed by a familiar touch. The American winced, not even knowing he had done it. But the reaction wasn't out of pain, but out of the sheer relief he had felt. The warmth had loosened whatever muscle was being stretched to the point of pain, and under that warm touch, it had been graced with sweet relief.

Alfred sighed, and leaned into the warm touch. Only to feel someone flick his nose, and then the oncoming sound of Mathew's giggles. Alfred wrinkled his nose, and then glared at the bed sheets. He made to turn his head to see who was touching him, or at least get a feel or something – only to connect his forehead with a large nose.

Someone gasped, Mathew mimicked them, and one person made a noise similar to inhaling a breath of whistling air. Alfred groaned, as he asked, "Ow, my bad, who'd I hit?"

"Ivan." Mathew answered simply, and then seemed to turn his attention to the other male. Alfred felt the warmth that had once spilled into his sore shoulder vanish, and the limb sagged once more. The American tried to hide the grimace of pain. But he had lucked out, because just as his face changed, the warmth was back and Mathew was saying, "Are you sure you're not hurt?"

A pause, and then came Mathew's reply of "Alright then. Al likes to turn at voices, so just be careful of whose talking and where you sit with him."

Alfred blinked, as he thought about who was sitting with him. Ivan was sitting with him? _Willingly? _

The American immediately tried to think of the last time someone had willingly sat next to him, and his brother didn't count, even though sometimes the other wouldn't sit next to him either. He thought hard about it, but the result nearly depressed him. It had been a long time.

Just as the American came from his thoughts, he sighed at the warmth back on his shoulder. It felt nice. He didn't care what was doing it, he just wanted it to keep on until the pain medication put him under to sleep.

In the meantime, he tried to enjoy the conversation around him, though to him, it seemed one-sided as only Mathew seemed to be talking. Which was strange, because of the responses his brother was making, how was Ivan speaking.

Thinking on ideas of Ivan could be communicating, one theory Alfred found himself mentally laughing at was telepathy. The young blonde was enjoying the warmth that was now spreading his shoulder and through his tired bones, the American could find his eyelids drooping every so often. He tried to keep them open, to feign being awake, but eventually, he just leaned back into where the warmth seemed to be coming from and found himself promptly asleep.

* * *

Mathew paused in his conversation with Ivan, to witness a peculiar but no less heart-warming sight. Alfred had tussled hair over his closed eyes and his wrapping were hardly even visible over his bangs. His lips were slightly open, and the older twin brother was murmuring in his sleep. But it seemed to be a peaceful and restful sleep, because Alfred was smiling and murmuring something about flowers and warm water.

His older brother was also pretty much in Ivan's lap, with the way he was leaning into the taller Russian, but the other didn't even seem to mind. He was still rubbing the small circles in the American's bandaged arm – that Alfred seemed to enjoy, if his face during the night was any indicator – and now playing with a lock of hair by Alfred's ear.

Ivan raised a brow at Mathew, and then looked down. He stopped twirling the hair, and Alfred mumbled something, and shifted slightly.

"Do it again," Mathew whispered, and Ivan looked at him once and then complied. Alfred's face briefly warmed, but then it returned to normal color, still sleeping as well as he had before. Mathew shook his head, muttering under his breath. "That brother of mine…" The younger brother smiled, with his eyes warm as he looked to his sibling, "But I love him anyways."

Pausing in his hair twirling, Ivan typed a message to Mathew, having to hold Alfred carefully so he wouldn't jostle him or cause him pain.

**[Have the doctors said anything yet?]**

Mathew quickly read it, his eyes only blurring once due to slight pinpricks of tears, as he smiled and looked up to say, "They said he'll be fine. He may need a few days in the hospital, and then some weeks to heal at home, but he's going to be okay."

**[I told you so.]**

That was Ivan's quick reply, as the Russian tried to put on his most teasing smirk. Mathew wrinkled his nose, and Ivan put down his phone to flick it. Mathew made the same face of his brother, and Ivan smiled. They talked a few bits more, and then the smaller blonde excused himself to go down the hall to the bathroom.

Ivan remained where he was; he was still content in his spot, still rubbing Alfred's shoulder and twirling a stray lock of hair. He felt like he was soothing the little fears he had held since childhood by knowing he was accepted by the brothers. He enjoyed being in their company. It put his mind off…other things. But he would need to get home soon.

But he didn't want to go home yet. Sitting here felt right somehow, and he felt like he was coming close to something. But he couldn't quite pinpoint what the feeling was. He put a name as close a name he dared: He felt welcome.

The Russian looked out at the setting sun outside the little hospital window, and simply enjoyed the sight of night falling down the warm colors. Dusk, he recalled, that was it. It had always been his favorite time of the time.

While Ivan enjoyed the sight and feeling in him, a smiling face peeking in through a crack in the door sighed happily to herself. She wiped a tear from her green eyes. She scurried away, before she was caught by other medical personnel.

The scene was too heart-warming to be true. But it was.

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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Nurse: Hungary, if you didn't catch it at the end. I am sorry, but I had to! XD

I am so happy to finally get this hospital piece over with, it kept making me sad and hate hospitals even more. I don't really like hospitals; I went too many times as a kid to ever have good memories of it…Ah well. I imagine Al and Matt were the same way. :x

At least, this chapter ended on a good note. A few more on the way!

**READ AND REVIEW!**

**NEXT UPDATE:** Alfred returns home, and settles back into normal routine, but finds himself wanting that same feeling of warmth again. Even if he has to look like a dork.


	8. Twin Outlooks Upon the Horizon

**Love is Blind**

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See something so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

_**BrooklynBabbii**_

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**Hot damn, I fell off the face of the Earth, didn't I? Shiiiiit, didn't really mean to do that. Sorry about that. Enjoy the update though, I won't promise anything soon.**

**This chapter was inspired and written fully to "Yaow!" by Baauer. Listen to it, it changes your life. **

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**.:Chapter Eight:.**

"_Attitudes are contagious. Make yours worth catching._"

– **Dennis and Wendy Mannering**

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Getting Alfred out of the hospital had been nerve-wracking. The blind male looked oblivious to the amount of needles in him and the procedures needed to retrieve him safely. Mathew had been almost afraid to touch him, when his brother was free. Almost. He still hugged his brother for all he was worth, albeit a bit more gently, when Alfred brought up how one of his ribs was still bruised from his fall. The other sibling couldn't help a twinge of guilt at the reminder. This was his fault.

But he could make up for it, starting now. He helped Alfred out of bed, helped him change clothes despite how Alfred complained, and into one of the provided wheelchairs, despite how Alfred protested that he was capable of walking on his own. Mathew signed off on all of the papers, and tried to ignore the child he could hear in the background. The child kept insisting to her mother that Alfred was a mystical creature, because she couldn't read his eyes.

When Mathew turned to see Alfred's reaction, he found the other blonde was holding his tongue, but his hands were starting to get restless, and more than just a little twitchy. Hurriedly signing through the last of the information papers, and getting the prescription that he knew Alfred would either hate or fight not to take at all, he tried to leave as quickly as possible.

However, his attempts to escape were thwarted when the little girl jumped in front of the wheelchair, and practically threw herself at Alfred's lap. She was no more than three, maybe four at most, but she was still a child. A child that was waving her hand in front of Alfred's milk-colored eyes, and calling out, "They're so pretty, mister, are you wearing special con-tacts like my big brother?"

Alfred's eyes were twitching. He could feel the girl, feel the air she was waving in front of his face, but he couldn't see her. He wanted to do no more than just snap at her to go away, but he knew better. She was just a child, a child being pulled away by her scolding mother, as his brother wheeled him away.

The sightless young man helped himself wordlessly into the car, and despite how Mathew tried to cheer him up, he remained quiet throughout the drive.

Pretty. She thought his eyes were pretty. He couldn't wrap his mind around that. What could possibly be positive, let alone 'pretty' about being blind? What could possibly be pretty about it? And who would 'lie' and put contacts in their eyes to have the impression of looking blind? That was an insult, in his eyes. Well, figuratively.

Shaking his mind of the thoughts proved painful as he moved his heavy head. Blood flow swished for a minute, creating a hearty and painful thump in his head; he fought back the urge to whimper at it. It hurt. He would get hurt because he couldn't see.

A darker and angrier part of him wanted to see that little girl again. It wanted to laugh at her, and then show her his bruises. It wanted to show off all of his scars. It wanted to ask her if they were pretty too. Was the remainder of his condition – the painful marks that came with not being able to see where he was going or what he might get into – were they pretty too? They had to be.

Being blind was 'pretty', right?

"Al," a voice called softly out to him, and said American cracked his eyes open. He hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep. But he was glad that his dream was over. It was getting too intense for his liking. He would be glad when the anniversary was over; it never brought any good to them while it was on its way, only afterwards. The only good thing that came about was when they could see their mother again, or in Alfred's case, he could go and sit at her grave and try to reassemble the little fragments of memory that he had of the incident and try to remember what she looked like.

However, with each year that passed, every anniversary that drove the remaining bits of family mad, the image of his mother seemed to fade further and farther away in his memory. He was down to only barely remembering how he would offhandedly recall that Mathew had his mother's eyes. But that didn't much help some days, when Alfred couldn't remember what he himself looked like. He remembered Mathew calling him blonde – but what kind of blonde? A speckled blonde, a platinum blonde or a dirty-blonde?

Alfred could barely remember what he looked like. He was losing the image of his mother's face. His own brother's face had even slipped from memory. All he could remember of his dad was that he was a bit rounder than most men for his weight class, from a minor thyroid disease, and that he had always had a stubbly beard on his face. Even when Alfred was younger, the American remembered that. Well, he thought he did.

Getting into the house was a bit difficult, trying to move his head without confronting that dreadful thumping pain again. Mathew seemed to sense that Alfred was in sort of pain, or in fear of it, and tried to help. It was good at first, but when a sudden brush of wind decided to creep upon Alfred's back, his efforts failed.

The feeling of cold against an old scar, Alfred felt his head drop slightly, as if he was ducking a blow. It was instinct, and that instinct almost killed him. The pain from moving his head arrived back with a vengeance. Alfred groaned, and held his heavy head, trying to think through the haze.

Mathew sighed, and just tried to hurry the transition along. He wasn't indifferent, but he didn't want to prolong any contact to the cold if he could help it. He didn't much like it, it numbed him, and numbness was a sign of incoming torment of that day. It was the day where numbness meant defeat and relief, where it meant joining their mother or trying to help their father pick up the pieces.

Once inside a place of familiarity, Alfred stayed put for a while, before traveling to the living room to listen to the TV. He put on the news, by just putting on some buttons, and he regretted his fingers after the channel spoke of a car accident. It was a hit and run, a baby – having to be delivered in the ambulance from a mother it would never know – now pronounced dead from prematurity.

There was the sound of glass clinking, and then the sound of a bottle coming open. Alfred frowned, as he laid down the sofa, "Mat? Are you really drinking? What time is it?"

Mathew did not respond at first, but the sound of pouring wine met Alfred's ears and he asked again. Mathew took a full but silent sip from his glass, and then sighed, "It's almost seven o' clock, Al. Calm down. I'm fine."

Alfred didn't believe him. But he turned back to the TV nonetheless, trying to feign being okay with it. Mathew continued drinking. Alfred tried to ignore the sound of the liquid coming into the glass time and time again, but after he decided he wanted nothing more to do with the sound, he made to just vanish into his room. He took the stairs as quickly as he could, walked swiftly to his room, and then crawled underneath his bed, dragging the covers down with him. He snuggled deeply into them, tried to recall things from his memory. But nothing came for a while.

Mathew was drinking. That was a sign in itself. Alfred was hiding underneath his bed, like a child afraid of the dark; that was another sign. What other sign could there else be?

The pitter-patter of rain on their roof – oh joy, the final nail in the figurative coffin. Rain. What a wonderful way to end a terrible day.

Alfred barely managed to get to any form or shape of sleep, until Mathew was stomping up the stairs, probably on his way to being intoxicated. Oh, what great joy could await them in the morning? Alfred had to wonder as he closed his eyes.

* * *

It started off pleasantly enough, much better than the previous night. Alfred's head was paining him as much, but he still was required to move carefully. The smell of breakfast awoke his stomach and the organ groaned from within him. Alfred called out to his brother, and when the other responded back well enough, the blind young man made his way downstairs.

The room was enveloped in wonderful smells, but it was when a certain one caught his nose, did his breath seize in his chest. Cinnamon rolls, there was something rare in the house, since the accident. At least the home made kind, such as now, and it could mean one thing.

"We leave at one, Al," Mathew said. He wasn't drinking this morning, not wine, but merely a glass of water. A glass of milk sat beside Alfred's plate, including his regular dosage of medication on a tiny saucer next to it. "Happy anniversary," Mathew muttered bitterly, he bit down hard on a scrambled egg.

Alfred was quiet for a moment, as he sat down, and then he chuckled darkly. The morning light did nothing to lift the dark mask upon his mouth, "It's really been twelve years…At least, we're still alive." Mathew nodded, forgetting or possibly purposely doing it, despite how his brother could not see the motion. Breakfast was eaten in silence, not a single word of conversation, only the clink of silverware on plates and the tinkling of glasses and hands fumbling on the table.

When one in the afternoon approached, Alfred was already at the door. Mathew was behind him, keys in hand, but his face was bitter. Why their father always chose this date to see them, and not any other day of the year, never ceased to ire both of him. It was almost as if he was afraid to see them. Was he afraid of their judgment of him, or he was simply an old man pained by old wounds?

Either way, both brothers disagreed with his neglected appearance or words with them.

The drive was silent for the most part, besides the radio trying vainly to cheer them up before Alfred shut it off. Mathew didn't reprimand him, because he didn't care. The radio had been bothering him too.

When the cemetery came into sight, Mathew drove into the parking lot, and then tried to gently shake Alfred's shoulder to alert him. The oldest of the pair nodded and sighed; he wasn't looking forward to this. He never had. This day was always looked down upon as a day to be alone and mourn in silence, not to come together as a sad group and talk to a slab of stone that couldn't even answer back. The journey to their mother's tombstone where their father waited was made worse by Alfred remembering that the grave was on a hill. Alfred's head hurt too much for this.

Head starting to throb with incoming pain, Alfred made it to the top before Mathew, and quickly sat down the moment he was able. There weren't any more graves around his mother's, so he held no fear of sitting on someone else's loved one.

Their father – Samuel Jones – sat squarely beside his wife; hand holding onto a piece of delicate ivy like it was her very own hand. He was much paler than Mathew had ever remembered him being, blue veins almost clear in some parts of his face. He even looked skinner, although maybe that was just his oversized sweater distorting an eye's judgment. His once coffee dark hair was now mostly gray with old age, a few white hairs here and there, with his beard and moustache following the same pattern. His blue eyes still held a semblance of life in them, but they looked tired. Almost as defeated as one who knew he was going to die soon. He was trying to sit straight, but despite the multiple back surgeries he had had on his back, his stance was still slightly slumped. His good arm went out to hug one of his boys, if either would hug him, while the one – a mechanical prototype – remained limp at his side. He would never touch his children with that arm.

Alfred reached for him, hoping that he was facing in the right direction. Sure enough, he felt a strong warm arm reach back for him, bringing him closer to the one parent he still had left. "Hey Dad," he greeted weakly, not knowing what else much to say.

"Hello Alfred," Samuel greeted back, and he pulled away to brush a few stray hairs from covering Alfred's eyes. The sun shined briefly off them, but the beauty that might have been in there was lost by the old man as he quickly looked away from the milky and sightless gaze. He hugged Mathew, and made to pull back, when the younger man took his metal hand and held it with a surprising grip. "How is your arm?"

Mathew knew his father's sensitivity to the limb, and was not surprised when his father yanked it away and hid it behind him as if it was something to be ashamed of. "It's fine, it works real good, same as always," he said too quickly. He was lying somewhat, the arm was very well crafted. But some days his shoulder pained, and the nerves didn't fully connect and then the prototype just hung there. Samuel had to be careful when he slept, for his worst fear of one day pulling the limb from the socket and seeing the amputated area. His entire left arm. He couldn't even wear his wedding ring anymore.

"M-hm," Mathew said, leaning away, and letting the subject drop. He caught sight of Alfred feeling out the letters on the grave and mouthing them, and whispered aloud, "Gina Serene Williams-Jones, a devoted mother and daughter and wife. December 5th, 1972 to…"

Where Mathew's voice drifted off, Alfred's voice continued, "March 24th, 2001." A pregnant silence followed, and for a brief time, the only one speaking was the wind. It was always like this, every year. It was why the boys dreaded the anniversary, the awful silence that followed pronouncing their mother's death. Their father was too broken to speak up for himself when it came to their mother, and the boys didn't know how to go forth and start a conversation. That was why every year, it was quiet. And despite how everyone hated the silence, no one made to break it for fear of doing it wrong or being afraid to do anything at all.

But for once, there came a sound from one of them. It was from their father. Samuel sighed, and began the grave news, "Boys, I have bad news…"

Oh no. Alfred could already feel himself shaking his head. Mathew was looking at his feet, thumbing his fingers through the dirt and grass. Neither of them wanted to hear any more bad news. They wanted good news for once. Something positive on the anniversary of such a dark day in their lives.

"I…I'll be moving away for a little while," Samuel said. "I'm a little sick, and I have to get special care, as my doctor says. You might not see me for a while." Alfred frowned, and raised his head. Mathew didn't look up.

"What kind of sick?" Alfred began asking, "How long have you been sick? Will you get better? Where are you moving to? How long will you be gone? What -?" Samuel held up his good hand to stop Alfred, before realizing that wouldn't do much good, so he flicked his son's nose playfully. Alfred's little nose wrinkled, and a speck of life flickered in his eyes. However, there was little life to go on in his father's. Alfred couldn't see it, but Mathew had a good idea of what might be soon putting his father up with his deceased wife.

Mathew bit his lip. He wouldn't say it. He wouldn't say it aloud, that only made what he feared real. He didn't want it to be real. It couldn't be the truth. He tuned out the words, but when he opened his eyes, and saw the mistiness visible in Alfred's milky orbs, he knew his suspicions to be true. But why, he inwardly questioned. They hadn't wronged anyone, why was God being so indifferent to their past and the powerful hold it held on their lives, how it tortured them with each day they breathed. Was Fate muffling their prayers, seeking to rid them off the Earth? What more could be taken from them?

"I'll be fine, boys," Samuel said. "If I could fight to go on for twelve years," he continued, though every one of them knew that his fight was half-heartedly, "Then, I can beat this little sickness like it ain't nothin'!"

Alfred tried to smile at that, willing to believe that his only surviving parent would fare better. Naïve. Mathew knew better. He knew. And he knew that his father knew it too.

No one could beat a terminal illness, especially not their old and beaten-down father. The old man fought to find the will to get out of bed every day, there was little hope he could kick back a death-ensured illness.

* * *

Going home was even more awkward. Their father's kisses still felt present on both of their foreheads, the warmth of his body still fresh in their memory. He even knew he was going to die, and yet he was still trying to front like he had a chance if only to prolong the inevitable. He didn't want them to cry for him, not just yet, he had said, while he still thought he had a chance.

Upon entering the house, the sun still in the sky but slowly making its way down, Mathew took the bottle he had drank from the night before and took another glass and closed the door to his room. He even locked the door. Alfred had heard the click, and merely stood in the middle of the doorway of the hallway, silent. Even though some days, it seemed like he was one who had little hope for the future, to know and 'see' his brother and his inner turmoil hurt him. It ate him from the inside out, and it wasn't too particularly gentle in its chewing.

So the young American sought out the outside world for company. He made to go out the back door, but rethought it and went out the front door. He would go for a walk to clear his head. He thought he knew the neighborhood well enough. He took a spare key, and locked the front door. After debating for a moment, he unlocked the door and went to his room. He went to his dresser where his smoky glasses sat, having been untouched in a while. He picked them up. Taking a small breath and releasing it as a sigh, he put them on. Then he went back out the door.

He started walking in no particular direction, maintaining the width of the sidewalk and keeping on it. He heard the bird sing, and how the neighbor's dog rejoiced in seeing him again. He followed its bark and went out to pet it. The dog was friendly and did not bite, only happy to see his familiar face…or maybe his scent. Alfred thought he remembered reading or hearing that dogs had poor vision but a superior sense of smell.

"Be good, little guy," he whispered to the canine, "Stay strong, no matter what." With that, Alfred gave the dog one last pat, and turned the corner. He kept walking for a while longer, using his remaining senses to gauge where he was. He could smell more car exhaust and knew he was getting close to the crossroads of the neighborhood. He made a left, and continued on straight. He could hear and tell when people would begin and stop walking. He wasn't completely helpless.

Alfred had forgotten all of the twists and turns he had made by the time the air had started to cool down. The sun was going down. He made to turn around and go home, when he realized something. He looked around, his fingers itching to take off his glasses but knowing he shouldn't and that it wouldn't do any good for him. He was lost.

He was utterly lost.

Biting his lip, he tried to turn around and bumped into people. A few at first snapped at him, and he assumed he was in a busier part of town; but then the first gasp sounded. Alfred tried to walk faster. Someone made to grab the arm of his hoodie, but he snatched himself from their grasp. He didn't want to be touched. He walked on, listened for the cars, and when it seemed clear, he tried to walk.

He was very nearly struck by a car in his haste, only saved by a strong hand snatching him back. Alfred gasped, but the sound went unheard over the sound of a blaring car horn. He is trembling, and very close to being sick then and there. His nerves are on alert, and his breathing is stammering, as he hugs his middle. Too many things are running through his head, and he can't begin to comprehend them all.

He had almost been hit by a car.

He would have been killed.

He could have been killed.

Why wasn't he dead right now?

"Sir, are you alright?" Alfred tried to pay more attention to the voice now assaulting him with questions. He needed to answer them. Maybe they could lead him back home. Alfred barely managed a nod, still shaking, but forcing the bodily quakes to stop, at least for the moment.

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder, not at all familiar, and it was putting way too much stress on his already injured frame. He doubted the stranger knew that, Alfred's hoodie hid the bandages well. Alfred took off his glasses briefly, hoping to some higher power that no one saw his eyes, as he rubbed the moistness from them.

"Mommy, look!" A child squeaked out, "He cries out milk! He's crying, why is he crying, mommy?"

He spoke too soon. There was another child to point out his milk-colored eyes. He hurriedly pulled his glasses back on, before anyone else could say anything more, as the child was scolded harshly. Alfred tries to look indifferent; as if he doesn't care about how much they stare at him, how they whisper among each other about why and how he became blind…

How their suspicions and assumptions are all wrong.

Alfred is only barely a single breath away from snapping at them to just shut up and quit assuming, when someone taps the owner of the hand restraining him. The stranger gasps as they look up and whisper out of awe, "Wow…Big fella, um, you know this guy?"

Said 'big fella' is Ivan, however instead of his usual small smile or at least face of stern calm, right now his facial expression is one of slight ire and suspicion. He nodded as an answer to the stranger's question, and taps on Alfred's hands in a familiar pattern. He had spelled his name in the American's palm: I-V-A-N.

Almost immediately, Alfred's mood is brightened, and he is quick to take Alfred's hand to be led out of the busy circuit of people. A few of the crowd, mostly in the back area, frown at the sight of two males holding hands, but most dismiss it as the fact that Ivan is merely helping Alfred keep his way. One woman nodded to herself, a certain fondness in her eyes for the two, although she did not know them at all.

Alfred does not hear Ivan speak, but he hears a few responses and the barely audible tapping of fingers upon a phone screen. He is curious, but he does ask now. Instead, he basks in the feeling of being somewhere familiar again.

When all of the responses are given, or at least the ones that Ivan feels like giving, he taps on Alfred's palm and they move on. They are merely walking, Alfred thinking of taking off his glasses since their presence had done more harm than good again, when a voice speaks out between them:

_**[Are you hurt?]**_

It was a computerized voice; that much Alfred knew. But he blinked. Nonetheless, he answered, "I'm fine. You came in the nick of time, though, I have no idea what might have happened if you hadn't shown up when you did." There was a slight pause, and then the computerized voice came up again:

_**[I'm glad.]**_

Alfred smiled at that. He didn't know why he did, but the smile came on its own. And after Alfred's rough day, it was a very much appreciated smile. His face was beginning to hurt from biting the inside of his cheeks for so long.

A few more minutes of walking later, and Alfred found himself being put to a stop, and then led around. There was the sound of keys rattling, and then the switch of a car door being unlocked. He was gently ushered into a seat, and his back met expensive leather. He was almost surprised by it, used to the soft and worn insides of his brother's car. But it was not unwelcome; it was kind of nice being treated to such a small luxury.

He heard Ivan come around the other side, and then put something in a bag in Alfred's lap. The American felt curious and his curiosity was rewarded by the feel of hardback books. He nodded, assuming that Ivan had come from the library or a bookstore nearby.

_**[I was running errands for my sister. She asked for some new novels to read in her planning period.]**_

Alfred nodded, and then frowned. He blinked, as he blurted, "Wait. So is your sister a teacher?"

_**[Yes. Elementary. She teaches first graders. She seems to enjoy her job, despite the stress. She loves children.]**_

Alfred nodded. That made sense, and he giggled. He could almost hear Katyusha's voice in his mind as she tried to do several things at once like any other teacher. "No running! 8 + 7 isn't 87, I'm sorry, try again. I said, no running!"

Ivan seemed to find his face amusing, or maybe it was the sound of Alfred laughing, because there was a small sound of amusement. But there came no laugh. Alfred inwardly wondered why, but he didn't press for it. He wasn't his business.

It was a nice drive, in Alfred's opinion. Ivan turned out to be a good listener. He let the American in his car talk as much as he wanted, without so much as one complaint. Even when Alfred wondered aloud how Ivan hadn't gotten a speeding ticket at least twice in their drive home, Ivan would only make that amused sound but would never comment further.

All in all, it was a nice drive and one that Alfred inwardly hoped would happen again. If under different circumstances, Alfred might add. He knew they had pulled onto their street, when Ivan slowed. He knew they had arrived to his house, when Ivan gradually came to a stop, and the sound of his door unlocking met his ears. He was almost sad to hear it.

Nonetheless, after putting the bag back on the seat, and scooting out, Alfred thanked his generous neighbor and then felt his way to the gate and then to his front door. He let himself in with his key, missing how Ivan turned around and went into his own drive way.

But what he hadn't missed was the familiar wash of warmth that he felt the entire drive with Ivan. He smiled in the dark entry room. He knew where that warmth came from, and now he could guess how to seek it out.

He wondered if the sunflowers were still in season?

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**-END CHAPTER-**

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…And the chapter went sad again, at least, until the end. Damn, this story can't stay happy, it always ends a bit on the sour side. Ah well, there's more background and we got a little fluff. And yay, for the slight promise of more fluff- Alfred, stop coming up these schemes, you little devil charmer, you~

[I actually thought about making this even longer, but as soon as I saw I was at 5k, I was like: "I NEED TO STOP. I AM NOT MAKING A 7K CHAPTER. OH GAWD. NO." You all had been spared, had it kept on, there would have been a sad ending…Damn. This story is sad.

**BUT IT GETS LIGHTER, I PROMISE.**

Also, I am really wondering why some of you guys really thought that Ivan/Russia and Alfred/America were just going to suddenly end up together. This story takes place over a few years [max amount is 5 years], so yeah…

It will get to the romance, but for now, let's get them to the friend zone and not just the nice (and mysterious) neighbor, okay?

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	9. How the Rosebud Opened

******Love is Blind**

******Rating:**T

******Summary****:** Slash!AU: Alfred F. Jones had long lost his sight after a terrifying accident as a child had rendered him blind. But he still kept his smile, even now; he still found reasons to smile. But…then along comes a young man who could help him to see again. See something so special, it had no true look, and could only be felt. RusAme

**__****BrooklynBabbii**

* * *

******Aaand again, I fell off the face of the Earth. Damn it, I need to get my shit together, I miss updating on this account – and I'm pretty sure you guys missed updates too.**

******This chapter was inspired by Hollywood Undead and then written to Asking Alexandria's new single: 'Death of Me'. There is no way to express how much I love my iPod right now.**

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******.:Chapter Nine:.**

"___If you wish to be loved, show more of your faults than your virtues._"

– ******Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton**

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Some days had rolled by, and those days amounted to weeks and those weeks to a few months, with little to no happenings. Little things like Alfred forgetting where he had put a shoe, and then all but ransacking the house to look for it, only to remember he had left the pair by the door for easy access later. Then, there were times when Mathew would go shopping or go to the store for a specific thing, get to the store and forget why he had driven there and then embarrassingly call his brother at home to ask why he had gone to the store in the first place.

These are simple things, have always been simple things, and they were familiar to their everyday lives. The cold was setting in, fall was being turned over for the cycle of winter, and the brothers were treating it as any normal person would.

But Alfred couldn't help but think that something was going to happen. Good or bad, he didn't know, but he had a feeling that he was going to be in a part of something. He hoped it was semi-big. Not small enough, as to not be adequately remembered, or so big that everyone would know about it – but just enough so that he and the other participants could laugh about it later on, when they were all going over it later.

He kept waiting for it to happen, tried wishing on the stars before he went to sleep in his bed, and hoped that it was good news for once and that he would enjoy it. As much as he liked a good laugh, he didn't so much like it when he was the joke of it. He found being blind and doing something and being made a joke of was particularly funny. But still, he wouldn't mind a laugh, if it wasn't so offensive and such a huge effort on his part.

So there he sat - Alfred sat in the backyard, staring off into space – is there a different way of saying so? For that was what he was doing: Simply looking out to nothing, and doing nothing but staring back at it. He liked to imagine that someone or something might be looking back at him, but with no vision to speak of, there was no way to tell without putting extra effort into lifting his arm to grapple with the air.

Air.

At that moment, the wind sought to kiss his cheek with its chill, causing the American to shiver slightly. He curled a bit tighter into the warmth of the blanket he had drawn over his shoulders. He bit his lip, and turned back to his book. He had been in the process of reading it, but he had lost his focus and his attention wandered over back to something else in the back of his mind.

Like the laundry and what he was going to eat for dinner, a small moment dedicated to wondering about how his mysterious mute neighbor must have been doing – he hadn't heard from him in a while, but his sister had dropped by a couple of times, for company, sometimes having dragged Ivan along when he allowed her to – and then back to somber topics, like to how the state was sending letters to ask if he wanted a seeing eye dog for the hundredth time.

The braille and its cold signs bit at his numb fingertips, but he didn't so much mind. He liked reading outside, it was refreshing for him.

The birds still left to the area, despite the oncoming winter, chirped for him and a neighbor's dog barked at a passing car. The ordinary sounds both calmed and saddened him a bit. While he liked the sounds for being familiar, something he had heard on more than one occasion; he felt a inner sense of disappointment that he might never know what the world looked like. He had read articles and heard his brother talk of his travels about how many people he'd seen or gotten to talk with and what he had gotten to see and experience.

He wanted to see and experience the world too – but, the last time he had gone to the airport, for a small trip to visit a friend of theirs, Alfred had felt so awkward. He felt like he was being watched at all times; and people would bump into him, see his mandatory glasses – at least, in the airport, they were a necessary requirement, if he was truly blind – and then the person would gape and point and then apologize and ask all sorts of silly questions about being blind.

Someone had even dared to ask him how he saw colors. Had he not bitten his tongue, and clenched his fist, he might have punched their teeth out and said red was the color of their blood going down on their busted mouth.

Alfred didn't mean to come across as a violent person, he was genuinely sweet and sort of a dork really, especially when it came to his favorite things and his hobbies, but his condition was a such a sensitive subject that even a mention from his own brother could send him off into a rage akin to a rebellious teenager. Or, at least, that was how Mathew had described it as. Alfred saw it as an extreme sensitive subject and its reaction, nothing more and nothing less. He hated bringing it up, and didn't much care for it when other people did either.

Even if it was obvious that he was suffering, whether from the actual blindness or the misery he put himself through for wishing he was not blind at all and reminiscing in the small bit of time where he remembered that he could still see – even if the memories were fading, and fading faster than he had feared.

"Alfred!"

Said American turned at the sound of his brother's voice, discontinuing his inner musings, and calling back, "What?" His voice sounded snappish, but it was only because he was starting to get cold. His fingertips were now freezing, and the American was shivering.

"What do you mean 'what?" Mathew called back, coming around to get his brother into the house. "The TV says it's about 42 degrees out and dropping, get in the house!" The younger of the two tried to grab his arm to haul the other up, but Alfred tugged him off his feet, laughing at him.

"Sometimes," the younger began, "I wonder why I bother with trying to be mature with you..."

"You enjoy a challenge," Alfred joked, gathering his things, and marking his page in the book with a worn piece of fabric. "Same reason why you like Sudoku."

"Actually, Sudoku is really easy, you just have to -"

"No," Alfred said, following the sound of the voice and placing a finger at his brother's forehead. "It is not. Stop saying that. It was made by the math devil, and it is evil." The pout that the other put on was simply put - adorable, and even though the owner couldn't see that he was doing it – Mathew laughed. He flicked his brother's nose, finding a small part of joy in how Alfred's nose wrinkled. "Only for you, now come on. I made soup and bread."

"Is it chicken?" Alfred asked, as he helped himself to his feet, and then shifted his textbook in his hands. He could almost see his brother shaking his head or rolling his eyes at the question.

"If you want it to be, Al," was the reply. Alfred was not satisfied, and he repeated his earlier question. Mathew ignored him, choosing instead to hum loudly and walk away. Alfred followed after him, laughing, but still asking, "But dude – Like seriously, is it chicken noodle or what?"

"Maybe," Mathew replied simply, "You'll just have to come inside and see for yourself." The vague answer made Alfred frown, as he retorted, "You're a little shit, you know that?"

"I'm never letting Gilbert hang around you, ever again," Mathew said dully. "He's rubbing off on you, in all the wrong ways. One day, you're going to go around, preaching you're as awesome and start comparing yourself to random simple things!"

"Chill, Mattie," Alfred said, adjusting his textbook, to sling an arm over his brother's shoulder. He was glad for the little fact that he was slightly taller by an inch or so than the other. It helped in situations like this, for proving his point or just for being the dork he was. "It wasn't my fault that he was online, when he said it. I just thought it sounded cool – 'you little shit'."

"Stop it, Al," Mathew groaned. "I'm calling him after dinner, and telling him that he can no longer influence you again." The shorter blonde seemed dead-set on his plan, so much though that his shoulders slumped in the realization of the other being right, when Alfred replied with, "That'll just make him wanna do it more, remember? This is Gilbert, we're talking about..."

"Shut up," was the reply. Alfred's laughter rang throughout the house, as they walked inside. Instantly sheltered from the cold and much more happy for the warmth of the house, Alfred was also much happier. He walked up the table, seating himself, and waiting for his plate to be placed in front of him. He made a show of sniffing the soup to "check for the presence of chicken", and after a nearly earning a prat on the head from a spoon that his brother had conjured up from seemingly nowhere, he talked as he enjoyed it.

He was still enjoying the soup, a small noodle still in the mid-process of being slurped into his mouth, its creamy sauce included – when the doorbell rang.

Both brothers looked at the door, and then back at their food. They looked at each, well Alfred thought he was looking in his brother's general direction, but he couldn't be sure. The doorbell sounded again, and Alfred said, "I am currently incapacitated, and I am in no shape to be greeting anyone in this form." He nodded at the end of his sentence, feeling rather clever for his declaration before Mathew burst his bubble. "You stole that from Gilbert's voice mail, didn't you?"

"Yup," Alfred laughed, as the doorbell rang again. Mathew sighed, and put down his fork on his plate. The other made a point of telling Alfred not to eat his food, before he crossed the living room floor to unlock and open the door, becoming surely surprised when he saw two bodies standing on his porch, their coats showing the signs of having nearly been drenched in rain.

"Hi Matvey," Katyusha beamed, holding a pot with a steamed glass lid over it. Her face was rosy and slightly red from the cold, her nose more so than the rest of her face. Her white earmuffs accented the look, as did her dark overcoat. "I'm sorry I forgot to call ahead, like I promised I would the last time, but look – I brought food for you two! See, piroshki, it's like a big dumpling really, and filled with meats and veggies!"

She turned up from lifting off the lid to show off the steaming dish, and saw Alfred pause in chewing his bread. The lone blonde at the table frowned, as he swallowed, "Why do I feel as if everyone is staring at me...?"

"Because we are," Mathew said, and then he blushed, and hurriedly said, "Excuse my bad manners. Come on in, we were already having dinner – but it's light, so your addition won't do much. Well, you'll keep alfred from having thirds, but that's all."

"Hey," Alfred piped up, "I'm not deaf, you know!"

"I know," Mathew replied, a bit cheekily, grinning, laughing a bit. Katyusha giggled, finding the little banter cute, and smiling at the younger of the brothers when he offered to take the still warm pot to the table for her, so that she and her brother could remove their coats to hang on the rack and then take a seat. To no surprise of anyone but Alfred, Ivan sat to his left, while Katyusha filled in the empty seat to Mathew's right.

Ivan made a gesture to Katyusha, but Mathew thought it was directed at him, and both of them answered at the same time, "Yes, it's soup – would you like some?" Almost immediately, they stopped talking and looked at each other. Then, they laughed, and Alfred made a point to ask, "You still remember your sign language?"

Still a bit red in the face, Mathew answered, "Yeah, I don't know why I hung onto it, since you don't use it -"

"I don't need to sign, I can talk just fine," Alfred explained, poking the larger form to his left and asking if he could have what was in the newly placed pot. As he was handed his own part of the dish, he heard Mathew's snarky mumble of, "And talk you do..."

"Again, I heard that," Alfred snapped back, but it was all in playful banter. Things were light in their lives again, for a little while, and both were simply trying to enjoy it – even if their banter seemed to suggest otherwise.

"Honestly, you two are so cute," Katyusha said, as she tried not to fumble with pouring her soup. Mathew made a move to help her, but Ivan was closer and he easily resolved what could have been a bad accident. "You get along so well, even better than Ivan and I, sometimes."

"You and Ivan seem pretty close," Mathew said, chewing over his food, with a hand over his mouth to be polite. Ivan looked up at the mention of his name, having been looking at Alfred trying to decipher how to eat his newly discovered dish. Obviously, he had never had it before, and was struggling to find his mouth. Ivan tried to lead his hand in the right direction, but at the brush of their skin, Alfred paused, frowned and blurted, "Your hands are cold, who's touching me?"

"Ah, Al," Mathew started, as Ivan allowed a small smile, and opened one of the other man's hands to spell his name yet again. Before he had even finished, Alfred was apologizing, his knee having nearly collided with the bottom of the table in the process. "Crap! My bad, big guy, I didn't mean -!"

There was the deep sound, almost akin to a laugh, but somewhere in the chest. Katyusha seemed surprised to hear it, and that surprised Mathew, and said silence after it made Alfred scared. "Why did we get real quiet? Please don't tell me I have some stuff on my face..."

There came that sound again, and Katyusha blushed as she looked away and down at her plate. There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, and she said, "Nyet, ah, no, Alfred, there is nothing on your face."

"Yeah, there is," Mathew said slyly, as he looked over, to where Ivan was still trying to get Alfred the help he needed to find his mouth with the new food. It looked so domestic, and the fact that Alfred – usually so independent, that he refused help from nearly everyone, but his brother - was actually letting someone else help to feed him; the scene amused him. "You got a little side effect of a crush hanging onto your cheeks – especially on your left, it's called a blush."

"Mathew!" Katyusha blurted at that, and Alfred nearly dropped his fork. Luckily, Ivan was there to catch it, even though he nearly fumbled himself at the words. His own face held a tad of color, but his mouth barely opened before he shut it quickly, something not missed by any of those who could see.

"Matt. I'm going to seriously throw something at you," Alfred said thinly, as he tried to find his fork, having thought he had dropped it. "Or trip you, or use up all of the hot water. Yeah, that last one sounds promising."

"So, I'm right then?" Mathew said, brightly, and the near accuracy that Alfred made by flinging a piece of bread was astonishing. Everyone laughed, and among those laughs came that deep sound akin to laughter. It seemed to come from Alfred's left, and out of instinct, the shorter frowned and put his ear closer to that side. Almost immediately, a mere second after Alfred had gotten to feel the slightest vibration, the sound was gone.

"Vanya, dear? Are you alright?" Katyusha asked, her voice getting higher as she worried. "Oh dear, you're changing color in the face! Are you alright? Say something? I mean, sign something, I mean – do something to show you are okay! Are you even listening to me?"

"His heart's beating pretty fast," Alfred mused aloud, as he raised a brow and pulled away to go back to his original space. He feigned going back to eating, having found where his mouth was and using it to stuff his stuff in order not to say something too embarrassing. Katyusha was still babbling, as Ivan took a shaky breath and weakly pushed her away, his blush still fading but slowly, as Mathew watched on with a sly smile.

_So maybe, the crush was requited then_, he thought, as he took another bite off of his plate. Katyusha was still fussing over his younger brother, despite his shaky hand movements to sign something coherent. He was doing much of a good job, his mind must have been thrown for a loop right then, and Alfred was being too quiet. But when, the younger brother looked over, he saw that his sibling was smiling slightly.

Mathew raised a brow, and laughed aloud, bringing everyone's attention to him. It was a nice sound, and it didn't take much of a second after it to lead Alfred to laugh too. Katyusha was slightly confused by all of the laughter, but she caught on after Ivan laughed again. Then, she smiled, she smiled big, and wide enough to pronounce her pudgy cheeks clearly, and she laughed too.

Everyone laughed, and the rest of the meal was eaten in a happy banter of jokes and giggles and laughter. Even after the food had gone cold on the table, and the night had gotten later without their knowing and taking its earlier brief storm with it, their laughter had toned down in its warmth in just the slightest.

None could have thought of a better way to have had spent their evening.

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******-END CHAPTER-**

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See? Happy chapter? Please, don't kill me. I have a dog to feed and a life on Tumblr to continue. (Shameless promotion: Tumblr link is on my profile, follow me for random nonsensical bullshit along with shit and giggles~)

**READ AND REVIEW!**


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